Bran' Happiness
by ChaChaFinesse
Summary: After the long wars, Winterfell has been restored and Bran is the lord. When a Lannister shows up on his doorsteps will he turn her away, or fall in love?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Hey y'all. So this is just a little piece that's been stuck in my head for a week now, making it almost impossible to work on anything else. It's a relatively short piece in total, but there are several more chapters that I've written and will post if anyone enjoys the first section. I love Bran, and this is just a little story about him in the future after all the crap that he has to deal with. It's slightly AU (since I'm combining stuff from the books and the TV show) featuring my favorite parings and an original character. Hope you enjoy.**

Bran walked across the court yard, and in that instant he knew it was a dream. He always walked in his dreams. Summer trotted happily at his heals. The huge oaken doors to Winterfell flew open in front of him and he was momentarily blinded by the summer sun streaming in through the wide open gates. When his eyes adjusted, he saw it, a great lioness trotting in through the gates. Bran knew that it was a dream and that the lion couldn't hurt him, but what he found odd was the lack of fear he had of the great cat walking into Winterfell.

He glanced down at Summer, who great the lion as one would an old friend, pouncing on her, goading her into play with happy yips. The lioness pounced on Summer, the dire wolf just falling to his back, as the lioness nuzzled and licked him. The lion turned her attention to Bran, large green eyes meeting his own, and he was falling backward, to the ground the great lion on top of him. She purred and tucked her head under his chin, her rough tongue licking his cheek. But when he looked at the lion, it was no longer a lion, but a wolf, a dire wolf, smaller than Summer, with a dark brown tinted coat, but the green eyes still bore into him.

When he finally opened his eyes, Bran could see that it was still dark outside. He pulled himself up in his bed and stared out his window. He flung his useless legs out of bed, and pulled himself into his chair. The chair had been a brilliant design, that the Imp had drawn up for him after the dust from the great wars had finally settled. A light padded chair, with large wheels on either side, so he could push himself around the newly reconstructed Winterfell, without needing to be carried. Gendry, his sister Ayra's husband, had constructed the chair himself in Winterfell's forge.

Not for the first time, Bran's heart felt heavy at the losses that the world had endured though the wars and the attack of the Other's afterwards. That winter had been hard, but thankfully short. Perhaps it was the forced retreat of the Other's as Queen Dany had forced the Others back beyond the wall with her dragons, before securing the throne for herself. The following spring had been bitter cold, but long. Giving him time to oversee the reconstruction of Winterfell. He had raised the new castle on the ruins of the old one, remaining true to the concepts and structure that Bran the Builder had laid forth. It had taken five years, but the castle stood tall and proud, as if it had never been raised

_Ten years,_ he thought staring into the east waiting for the sun to rise. _It's been ten long years since the White Walkers were sent running. Twenty years since my father died. _Bran had been eight then, still a boy, but now he was a man of twenty eight, and Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North beside. Arya had married-though she swore she never would, Sansa had married the Hound, Sandor Clegane who'd been made Lord of the Eerie after the dust settled, even little Rickon, had married a young daughter of Dorne, only he remained alone. _No one wants to marry a cripple, _he thought bitterly to himself. He'd never say it aloud, but he knew.

Not that he hadn't had offers, he had. It seemed that many houses wanted to join with the Starks who had pulled themselves from the ashes of a ruined Westeros. But every time he met one of these girls who'd be his wife he saw nothing but pity in their eyes. Whether is was pity for him, as a cripple, or pity for themselves, at the idea of being married to a cripple, he wasn't sure, but what he was sure of was that he had had enough of pity.

He thought of his dream, as he watched the sun peak over the horizon. _A lion,_ he thought. _A Lannister perhaps?_ Bran frowned. Nearly all of the Lainnister's were dead. The Imp had died only a few years ago, but Cersei and Jamie were long gone and the vast majority of the Lannisters had been killed by the war. Tommen, the heir to Casterly Rock, had taken a Maesters chain instead, renouncing his claim, and had actually been sent to Winterfell once his training had been completed. He had heard that a minor branch of the Lannisters had inherited Casterly Rock, but the Starks remained ever wary of the Lannisters. He wondered why he would have welcomed a Lainnister into Winterfell so happily, when he heard a small knock on his bedroom door. He turned his chair, and saw Rickon walk in. His brother stared at him, a frown marring his normally happy features.

"I dreamt of a Lion last night," Rickon said

"As did I," Bran nodded.

"Do you think we should tell the others?" Rickon asked.

"Did the lion attack you?" Bran asked, remembering how happy he had been to see the lion.

"No," Rickon frowned even deeper. "That's what I thought was odd. I embraced the lion as I would a sister and Shaggy seemed very protective of her." Bran nodded. He hadn't quite puzzled out the meaning of the dream yet, but he knew that what ever this lion was supposed to be, meant no harm.

"You can if you want," Bran sighed. "But I don't think the dreams meant trouble." The whole family had gathered at Winterfell from the farthest corners of the seven kingdoms, for Bran's name day next week.

"Still want to ride today?" Rickon said a smile finally spreading over his face. The Hound had planned a hunt for that morning and the four men, Gendry, Rickon and himself, were all riding out in but a few hours.

"Does a Lannister shit gold?" Bran laughed. Rickon laughed heartily and left to dress. Bran called a servant who helped him do the same. It still bothered him that there were many things that he couldn't do on his own, but Winterfell had been designed with his handicap in mind. In place of stairs there were angled ramps, so that there was no place in his castle that he couldn't go. It had been quite a challenge to do and he had to send for an architect from across the Narrow Sea, but it had been done.

Bran glanced at himself in a polished silver mirror. He would have been as tall as his father, perhaps taller as Rickon was, but he was confined to the chair. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were as thick as Gendry's from pulling himself around on his bars and pushing the wheels of his chair. His face was that of a Stark, dark eyes and strong features, his dark hair kept short. He was handsome. He'd been told so on a number of occasions, but he was also not whole.

When he was dressed, he joined his siblings to break his fast in the great hall. Arya sat lecturing her twin sons Eddard and Robert not to put their elbows on the table, while Sansa praised her own children, Eleanor, Robb and Edwin, on their table manners. Rickon said whispering into his wife, Marci's ear, while she sat huge with their first child. He envied his sibling for their happiness. Each had found love however odd it may have been and clung to it.

After they ate, the men mounted their horses and were off. Bran's own mount Crow, a black gelding with a good temperament had been trained much the same way that his young mare Dancer had been, responding to his voice and touch instead of spurs. He rode out with his brothers, both by birth and by law, and came to the wolfwood, where they were planning on hunting. Sandor's hounds were baying ahead of them, on to the scent of something, and Summer and Shaggy Dog, padded silently beside their masters. The hunt was merely a distraction for Bran, and an excuse to ride. Sandor's courser bolted ahead of the rest and left Bran with Gendry and Rickon.

"Rickon tells me you had a dream last night," Gendry asked in a nonchalant tone. Bran looked at the bastard born Lord of Storm's End, who Stannis had legitimized with his dying breath. Bran simply nodded. His sibling knew of his dreams, the green sight as the small folk called it, and likewise, so did their spouses. He opened his mouth to answer, but his attention was turned in the direction of the Kings road to the east. He saw a figure, riding hard, as if demons themselves were at their heels. He watched as the figure adjusted in the saddle, pulling its legs under it and stood on the galloping horses back.

Bran could see now that the figure was a woman dressed in mens clothes. She stood up straight on the horses back, seemingly unafraid, reins held in one hand. The wind tossed her long unbound dark hair into a tangled mess, but she seemed not to care. She dropped to one side, her foot catching in the stirrup and her other foot barely seemed to touch the ground, as she vaulted her leg back over the horse and in to the saddle. He had seen Dothraki riders do this in King's Landing, but had never seen anyone ride like this otherwise.

Back in the saddle she reigned her horse to a trot, and glanced in his direction, halting her horse entirely. The dappled grey horse she was riding, panting hard and pawing the ground in excitement. Before he knew what he was doing, Bran was turning his own horse and urging him forward towards this wild girl. Something about her was intriguing. As he drew nearer, he could make out the girls features. She was young, maybe eighteen, with a long tangled dark mess for hair, and pale skin, marred with mud and dirt. She seemed delicate, too delicate to be riding like this by herself. Even under the mens tunic and breeches he could see that she was curvy, her waist tiny by comparison. She cast her eyes down as he approached.

"Forgive me my lord," she said, her voice calm and even. "I didn't know anyone else was around."

"You're only a few hours from Winterfell," Bran said his voice low and stern, the way he knew a lord's voice should sound. "That was impressive riding." Her eyes flickered up to his only for an instant, but Bran felt a stirring in is chest. Even covered in dirt, this girl was the embodiment of beauty.

"Thank you my lord," the girl smiled and seemed to be hold back laughter. _Yes,_ Bran thought, _Laugh at the cripple._ "It's kind of you to say so." Her eyes remained on the ground in front of his horse, Bran wished she would raise her eyes to his, so that he might see her better, but before he could ask her she spoke again. "I beg your pardon my lord, but I must return to my companions." Bran nodded, sad that she wished to be gone from him so quickly. She bowed her head slightly, and turned her horse around roughly and galloped off back from where ever she had come.

"Who was that?" Rickon asked from Bran's left. Bran shrugged as he watched her ride away from him, and felt an odd tugging in his chest at the sight of her retreating figure.

It was well into the afternoon when the men returned from their hunt. Sandor had brought down a deer and sent it to the kitchens so that it might be cooked for dinner. As Bran wheeled into his solar, he found his sisters waiting for him, both with angry expressions on their faces. "What is it?" Bran sighed.

"A Lannister has come to visit Maester Tommen," Arya said, the name Lannister rolling off her tongue like a curse. "She got here four hours ago, and we had to greet her and offer hospitality."

"A Lannister," Bran sighed again, thinking only of the girl he'd met on the road, where she was, what she was doing.

"Yes," Sansa said, her voice soft, but still disdainful. "She asked us to show her to her cousin and feed her garrison. She said she'd happily call on you at your convenience."

"We haven't had a Lannister in Winterfell since," Bran began, remembering his dream.

"Since the bloody Kingslayer pushed you out a window," Arya finished. Bran shot his sister a warning look. "What?" she asked. "It's true."

"I'll change and then greet her myself," Bran said more sternly than he meant to. His sisters nodded and rose to leave.

"Better to receive her in the hall, Bran," Arya cautioned. "I'd not invite a Lannister into my chambers if I were you." When his sisters had finally left, Bran rubbed his face. _A lion has come to Winterfell, _he thought. He ordered a bath and cleaned, and changed his clothes before sending someone to this Lannister woman. He wheeled himself down to the great hall, and pulled himself into the lords chair, just in time for his siblings and to join him. His sisters were shooting him meaningful looks, and he sighed not for the first time that day.

Maester Tommen walked into the hall, at his side a lovely woman. Tommen's Lannister features were a stark contrast to the young lady's. Where his hair was spun gold, hers was a dark brown, long a wavy, bound into a simple braid down her back. Where Tommen was tan, she was pale. Her gown was Lannister crimson, and she was small, tiny even.

"My Lord," Tommen said with a bow, "My I present my cousin, Lady Josslyn Lannister." Josslyn's green eyes darted up to meet Bran's and he grimaced in instant recognition. Her face may have been scrubbed clean, and her hair brushed free of it's tangles, but he knew this was the same wild girl he'd seen on the King's Road.

"Lady Josslyn," Bran said his voice unusually tight. "If I had known it was you on the King's Road I would have seen you safely to Winterfell." He could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he looked at the beautiful girl before him.

"Far be it for me to interrupt your leisure, my lord," Josslyn smiled slightly. Bran noticed a slight blush creep into her cheeks. "I had not thought that you would recognize me." Bran was silent. If this Lion was nervous in the wolves den, she didn't show it. "I thank you for your hospitality my lord," she continued. "I had not thought I would be received as warmly."

"Do you think us barbarians then," Bran snapped. "Who do not know basic courtesies?"

"No, my lord," Josslyn smiled sadly and Bran immediately felt bad for his harsh reaction. "Not at all. There is little to no love of Lannisters in the North," she said with a quick look at her cousin beside her. "Not that I would blame your family had you turned me away. I'm only here to see my cousin, and to see the North with my own eyes."

"A Lannister, with a love of the North," Arya snorted somewhere beside Bran. "I had thought that the Lannisters wouldn't like the cold." Josslyn never seemed fazed for a moment. She inclined her head to Arya,

"Not all would do well in the cold," she said with a small laugh. "But I was born in the first year of the last Autumn. The cold is really all I know, and with the unseasonably cold Spring turning to Summer, I found Casterly Rock too warm for my taste." Bran watched Josslyn closely, she had all the civility and bearing of someone who grew up in the royal court, but that wild girl he saw on the road intrigued him more than he'd like to admit. Sansa seemed to have the same thought.

"You spent time at court," she said. "Judging by your bearing."

"Yes, my lady," Josslyn said. "Several years in fact." She reached into one over her long sleeves. "I have brought this. A letter from your brother Jon." She walked up the slanted ramp to the dais, where he and his family sat, and offered the letter to Bran. He took it, and his fingers grazed hers for an instant, and he found his hand seemed to burn with a pleasant warmth where her hand had touch his. She blushed again, and returned to her cousins side.

"Would you dine with us Lady Josslyn?" Bran asked before he knew the words were even out of his mouth. He heard the gasps of his siblings and could feel their angry glares on his back. He didn't care, he found this woman intriguing, whether a Lannister or not. He watched Josslyn take in his siblings reactions.

"If you' d have me my lord," she smiled kindly. "But you don't have to stand on ceremony for my sake, I could take a simple meal with my cousin and be just as happy." She had gracefully given him an out, and she had done it so deftly that he could easily rescind his invitation and no one would be insulted.

"I insist." Bran said firmly. His sisters would not be happy about it but he couldn't care less at the moment. Josslyn was fascinating, and he wanted to spend more time with her, no matter if it made his sisters mad. He watched Josslyn's eyes flicker to either side of him at his sisters.

"Then I accept, my lord." she said with a smile. "I'd be happy to share a meal with your family." She bowed and excused herself, and Bran watched her wistfully as she left. No sooner was she out of earshot then his sisters descended on him.

~x~

Tommen escorted Josslyn from the hall, and when she was finally in the safety of her own chambers, did she feel that she could relax. She was so sure that Bran wouldn't recognize her that she felt bad for lying through omission. His sisters on the other hand, she exhaled another great breath and frowned.

"Please don't be offended Joss," Tommen said sadly.

"I'm not, Tom," Joss said honestly. "If half the stories they tell of the Starks are true, then it's no wonder they look at me suspiciously." Tommen frowned and absentmindedly fingered his maester's collar.

"You handled yourself well though," her cousin smiled bitterly. Joss hugged him tightly. She knew none suffered for the Lannister name more than Tommen, who was Cersei's son. If she was regarded with suspicion, then he was regarded with hatred. "Poor Bran doesn't seem to know what to do with you," Tommen laughed, and Josslyn turned to hide her blush. If truth be told she hadn't know what to expect from the famed Lord of Winterfell, but when she saw him on the road she couldn't believe how handsome he was, no one had warned her of that. Everyone seemed to focus on the fact that he was a cripple, but none had said that his dark eyes seemed to stare right through you as if examining your very thoughts. She shivered remembering the way his hand had felt beneath her fingers.

Josslyn groaned throwing herself into a chair, "What am I going to do about this dinner? Arya and Sansa clearly don't want me there."

"You could feign ill," Tommen suggested with a hint of disapproval.

"No," Joss dismissed the idea. "I wouldn't do that." She ran a hand down her braided hair, if truth be told, she was excited about the idea of seeing Bran again, though she told herself she was just being a silly girl. She just didn't want to make his sisters uncomfortable. She heard a knock at the door, and sat up straight, pretending to be the proper lady that she been taught to be. A young serving boy walked in and bowed clumsily.

"Lord Stark wished me to inform you that dinner will be in his solar in an hour, m'lady," the young boy and then left the room. Josslyn suspected the reason, but all the same, washed and changed for dinner, making her way through the stone walls of Winterfell to her now private dinner with it's lord.


	2. Chapter 2

**ChaCha here! So I forgot to mention that I don't own anything...no really I don't even own my car yet. Thanks to those of you who reviewed and added this to their subscription lists. I'm really happy that you've all taken interest in my story. I also forgot to mention that this story will contain book spoilers. This chapter doesn't have any, (I think-the story about Dany is something that I mostly fabricated) but further chapters will. Hope you like the new chapter. **

~x~

When Josslyn walked in Bran couldn't take his eyes off of her. She had changed into a gown of dark blue, that seemed to make her green eyes stand out even more if that was possible.

"I take it that your family couldn't join us?" she said with a sly but understanding smile. Bran knew she wasn't fool enough to believe the story he concocted, but all the same he recited it.

"My sisters children took ill with a fever, and my brother's wife is very near the end of per pregnancy." The part about Marci was true enough, but Arya had bullied Rickon into not attending dinner, when she and Sansa refused to eat with her. Josslyn's eyes were sad, but in a move that surprised him, she place a hand on his own.

"I understand," she said politely, but by her tone, Bran could see that she understood more than she said. He just stared at her, completely forgetting that she had placed her hand on his. She seemed to realize after a few moments that she still held his hand. She quickly removed it and blushed. Bran couldn't help but smile as the pink crept across her cheeks. He thought she was perhaps more lovely when she blushed.

Dinner was an awkward affair to start, but soon enough Josslyn seemed to be at ease. In this moment, she was less of the properly bred lady, he had seen in the hall, are more of the wild girl that he had seen fearlessly standing on the back of her galloping horse. He found that he greatly enjoyed her company. She had spent some time in King's Landing and had met his brother Jon, who was now serving the queen still a brother of the Night's Watch, but as a member of the small council as well. The kingdom now fully supported the Watch as it hadn't done in centuries and he suspected that Jon was the reason.

As Josslyn told stories of his brother at court, Bran couldn't help that his gaze wandered down to her chest. The tops of her large breasts were peaking over the top of her bodice. He swallowed as he could feel his pants tightening at the idea of those large breasts in his hands and his lips on her neck. He shook his head, trying to focus on what she was saying rather then thinking of her in a compromising position.

He had had women before, but only tavern wenches. But she was a lady, and he couldn't take her to his bed. He watched her lips as she spoke, and wondered what they would taste like. He had a sudden flash of an image in his mind of her sitting perched on his lap, his fingers buried in her long hair pulling her closer to him, when he realized she had stopped talking.

"I'm sorry my lady," Bran said his voice almost foreign to his own ears.

"I must be keeping you from your rest," Josslyn smiled. "Sleep well, my lord," she said rising and moving to the door.

"Bran." Josslyn turned to looked at him confusion written across her face. "Call me Bran."

~x~

Josslyn heart almost stopped when he said "Call me Bran." He rolled his chair back slightly and angled so he could face her better. He was asking her to drop all of the courtly courtesies she had learned and simply befriend him. It was far more than she could have asked for when she crossed the threshold of Winterfell.

"Only if you call me Josslyn," she responded with a conspiratory smile.

"Josslyn," she heard him whisper as if trying the name out. His eyes met hers and she felt frozen to the spot, and he stared at her much the same way, his eyes half lidded. "Good night Josslyn," he said his voice husky, and that seem to startle her out of the spell she'd been under.

"Good night Bran," she smiled and turned to leave. She seemed to float back to her room, she dressed her self for bed and crawled between the sheets. She dreamed that night. Dreamed of Bran kissing her and touching her in places where no proper unmarried lady should dream of being touched.

Josslyn awoke before dawn, her sheets soaked in sweat. She rose and washed herself. She had never been an early riser, often fighting to stay asleep long after the sun had risen, but she just couldn't sleep anymore. The dreams she'd had last night were burning in her mind, and in her body. She dressed warmly and walked the outer walls of the castle. Winterfell was so quiet and peaceful and the sun was just barely peaking over the horizon that she leaned against the wall and watched the sun rise, breathing deeply.

That was the way Bran found her. He had been so silent when he approached and she was so engrossed in her own burning thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him, so when he said her name she leapt.

"Gods Bran," she said her heart beating from what she suspected was more than only fright. "You startled me." She could see him smile in the pale light of the rising sun. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked wondering if he could see the blush that covered her face.

"No," he said a smile on his face. "I'm just an early riser." Bran smirked and Joss wondered if he knew what she was thinking. Josslyn smiled and took a deep breath.

"I can smell snow," she laughed.

"We usually get some snow year round," Bran said turning to face the dawn. "I don't think I've ever heard a southerner so happy about the snow."

"For most," Josslyn laughed "Snow is simply a harbinger of the Winter, but for me…" she paused shrugging. "I find snow almost magical. Like a clean slate. The world washed in white to start a new." She stood up straight, remembering herself. "Listen to me go on. I'm sorry," she said suddenly embarrassed.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Bran stared at her with a smile. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he returned it to the lightening sky. For some time they stayed in companionable silence, simply watching the sun come up and the world begin to stir around them. "Have you broken your fast?" Bran asked. Josslyn simply shook her head. "Join me then, will you?" He smiled so brightly that she felt her heart skip a beat, before she frowned.

"Bran," she said looking down at him. "Let's not lie about the situation. Your sisters do not want me there, and I don't want to make it uncomfortable for them." She had wished that the Stark women had been a little kinder to her, but she really could be mad at them. They had been grossly mistreated by her family, and though she and her parents had nothing to do with it, she could understand their distrust of Lannister's in general.

"My sisters," Bran said, a hint of a growl in his voice "Would do well to remember their courtesies." Josslyn opened her mouth to protest, but Bran raised a had and cut her off. "I enjoyed your company last night, and I would like you there. I think, in time, my sisters would grow to like you as well. I will not take no for an answer," Bran said and he winked.

They walked together down to the hall, where Josslyn found the entire family already around the table. Arya stood as she entered, but with a warning look from Gendry she sat back down. Sadly Josslyn saw that Tommen was nowhere to be seen, went to the end of the table near Rickon and his wife who greeted her warmly. She chatted a bit with Marci who was fairly new to the family, but noticed that no one else even looked in her direction. All except Bran, who seemed to be watching her closely. Josslyn took a deep breath, steeling herself,

"Lady Arya," she said loud and clear so there would be no mistake. "You brother Jon told me you learned the sword from a Bravossi." Arya narrowed her eyes at Josslyn wondering where she might go with this.

"It's true," Arya said not smiling.

"Quite a feat," Josslyn said. "I've heard that the water dance is incredibly demanding. Not only physically but mentally."

"You speak as one who knows," Arya said noncommittally. "Do you fight?"

"Yes," Josslyn admitted noticing the surprised look on Bran's face. "But with knives, not a sword." This seemed to perk Arya's interest.

"Knives?' she asked a hint of approval in her voice.

"Yes, my lady," Josslyn smiled. "My lord father got it into his head that knives were a more appropriate weapon for a lady and hired an Asshai knife fighter to teach me."

"We should duel some time," Arya said an odd glint in her eye.

"I would rather like that," Josslyn said. "Outside of Casterly Rock I've had no chance to practice."

"After we've eaten then," Arya said happily.

"At your leisure," Josslyn smiled, hoping that the bold move might have taken her one step closer to being able to call the youngest Stark daughter a friend. After breakfast, Josslyn returned to her room and changed into a rough spun tunic and a pair of leather breaches. She grabbed her dulled sparing knives, and made her way into the court yard where Arya was waiting for her, dressed much the same, an excited smile on her face.

Without speaking Arya took a sideways stance, classic of a water dancer, and Josslyn, crouched bent slightly, her slightly curved knives grasped loosely in her hands. Arya lunged at her with blinding speed, and Josslyn was barely able to dodge, raising one of her knives to block and with the other she spun quickly meaning to take Arya unawares in the side.

But the water dancer moved as if she expected this, and dodged the attack. Josslyn took the offence this time, bringing a barrage of blows that Arya was able to catch with the edge of her dulled blade, before she finally countered a strike nearly making Josslyn loose her balance.

They continued this way for another quarter of an hour, until they finally decided to call a halt. Arya was laughing, "We're far to evenly matched you and I. We even seemed to exhaust at the same time." Josslyn laughed, but thought Arya was just being kind. If they had continued any longer, Josslyn knew that she never would have won, Arya's skills were far better than she had let on, and Joss felt that Arya had been toying with her for most of the match.

"You know," Arya said quietly so that no one would overhear. "You're not as bad as I thought you'd be. In fact, I may be starting to like you, gods help me. A fellow lady fighter, I'd hardly believe you a Lannister." Arya smiled kindly at her, "I'm sorry if I was rude."

"You had you reasons," Josslyn said panting. She was amazed that Arya seemed not to tire. She grimaced slightly wondering if she really was that out of practice.

"Yes," Arya waved a hand dismissively. "But the reasons are unfounded and based in pain a decade gone. You are living proof that not all Lannister's are the same."

"If all it took to gain your favor," Josslyn smiled, her breath returning to her, "Was a fight, I wonder why I didn't draw knives the moment I crossed the threshold." Arya let out a bawdy laugh and Joss smiled brightly.

"This lion bites like a wolf," Arya winked. "If you had, I wouldn't have taken it easy on you." Josslyn nodded, Arya clapped her on the shoulder and walked away laughing. She's heard stories, rumors really, of how Arya Stark had survived for years on her own after fleeing King's Landing, but from the spark of defiance that Josslyn had seen in her eyes while fighting, and from the way she handled the sword, she no longer wondered if they were true.

"That was quite impressive," Bran's voice startled her out of her thoughts. She turned to see him sitting in his chair in a dark corner of the courtyard.

"Not as impressive as it looked," Josslyn admitted with a smile. "Your sister is a keen fighter, and she was really just toying with me." Bran laughed and the sound was like music to her ears.

"You seemed to gain her approval though," Bran said, his smile hiding something, but what she couldn't tell.

"I'm glad for that," Josslyn turned away from his burning gaze. "I admire any woman who forges her own path." She watched Arya's retreating form and saw her dire wolf, Nymeria, join in at her side. She could still feel Bran's gaze on her and she wondered why. "If you'll excuse me, I should change." She turned back and saw that Bran smiled, but it never reached his eyes. She bowed slightly and left.

~x~

As Bran watched Josslyn go, he had to admit he was frustrated. He was far more intrigued by this woman than he had any right to be. _It has to be her eyes, _he thought. _She has no pity in them. _His heart swelled at the thought that he had finally met someone who saw him, but not the cripple. He shook these thoughts from his head. She had been several years at court, she was likely just better at hiding it than the others. He ran a hand though his short hair. He had fought with Sansa this morning, who was still angry that a Lannister was beneath the roof.

"Sister please," Rickon had tried to reason with her. "She's given us no reason to mistrust her."

"She's a Lannister," Sansa said firmly. "That's reason enough."

"If that's how you feel," Bran had snapped, "Then at least remember to be polite. You seem to have forgotten your manners in your old age." Sansa had laughed bitterly about his quip at her age, but that night at dinner, she was the proper perfect lady.

"Did you see the dragons when you were in King's Landing?" little Eleanor asked Josslyn. She was seated at the foot of the table with Tommen and the children, but she didn't care, the children were full of energy and seemed to keep her entertained. With a happy smile, Joss turned her attention to Sansa's eldest child.

"Yes," she whispered making Eleanor and the other children lean in closely. "The are huge creatures, with scales as hard as stone, that sparkle even on the darkest of nights. Their fire lights up the night sky as if day as suddenly broken and listen to no one but their mother, the queen." Bran smiled suddenly remembering Old Nan, who would tell stories in the same quiet voice, forcing all the children to fall under her spell.

"Do they eat children?" Edwin asked his voice trembling from fear.

"Of course not," Josslyn laughed loudly. "They like horses and sheep. But the queen would never let them eat children."

"Then that's not a good story," little Eddard pouted. Josslyn smiled, seeming to understand what Eddard meant.

"So then," her voice was a whisper again. "You like scary stories." All the children leaned in excitedly, nodding. "Well," Josslyn said a twinkle in her bright green eyes, "They say that years ago, before the queen returned to Westeros, that a man came to her, claiming that his army would defeat her. He said that no army lead by a woman could possibly defeat a man such as him. The queen smiled kindly and offered the man a place leading her vanguard if he would give up his foolishness and pledge his sword to her. The queen knew that she could take the man's city, for she had three great dragons. Viserion, Rhaegal and Drogon, named for her brothers and the man she loved and lost. The man foolishly refused and said "I shall kill all your men, take your women as my bed slaves and you…you foolish little girl, I will keep your head as a skull on my spear, so that all my enemies can see that even the Mother of Dragons falls beneath my blade."

"Drogon roared and spit a torrent of black flame at the man, before swallowing him whole in front the foolish mans entire army. The army swore allegiance to the queen the very instant that Drogon had swallowed their leader, but it is said," Josslyn paused her and lean in to the children who stared at her with wide excited eyes. Bran resisted the urge to lean is as well, for he always love stories like this. "It is said," Josslyn repeated her voice so low that everyone had to strain to make out what she was saying, "That to this day, if you press your ear to Drogon's stomach, you can still hear the mans screams."

The table was deathly silent, as everyone, even Sansa hung on every word that came out of Josslyn's mouth. Bran could see Josslyn's eyes flit about studying each of the children's faces, before her hand snatched out and grabbed Eddard's arm and she let forth a cry that echoed in the hall. Eddard leapt from his chair and all of the children let out screams of fear and delight, and then descended into laughter. After their story the children were sent off to bed and only the adults remained, sipping at their wine and talking.

"You are quite good with children," Sansa said politely to Josslyn, but Bran could hear grudging respect in her voice.

"I've always loved children," Josslyn said happily. "And this bunch are sweeter than most, it would be hard not to adore them."

"May the Mother bless you and your betrothed with many children then," Sansa said kindly but Bran knew this was her way of getting more information out of Josslyn.

"Oh," Josslyn said with a knowing smile. "I am not betrothed." If Sansa was surprised by this he couldn't tell.

"Really?" Sansa asked, her tone very curious now. "A beautiful young lady, with the gold of Casterly Rock behind her? I find it hard to believe that you do not have suitors beating down the gates."

"I've had suitors enough," Josslyn said almost off handedly. "But my father turned them away."

"Why is that?" Arya asked joining in the conversation.

"My father," Josslyn said with a contented smile, "May be Lord of Casterly Rock now, but when he was born he was of a lesser Lannister house and because of that he was able to marry for love. He met my mother in the free cities and brought her back to be his lady. He says that the life of a lord holds too few real joys, so it's better to marry for love rather than power or political alliance, then at least you know you will always be happy at home."

"So there are no kind knights or handsome lords that have caught your fancy?" Sansa asked her eyes narrowed. Bran heard Sandor scoff at his wife's words.

"You of all people my lady," Josslyn replied no smile on her face. "Should know that knights are not always kind, and heroes not always handsome." Bran saw her gaze flicker to Sandor, but the old Hound said nothing. "Just look at my relatives," Josslyn leaned back in her chair, spinning the last of her wine around in her cup. "Cersei was as beautiful as the day is long, and yet was a cruel as a never ending winter. Tyrion was a dwarf, malformed, gods rest his soul, but was kinder and smarter than the rest of his family combined. It is not the beauty of a person or a title that defines their worth, but their heart and their actions." A genuine smile crossed Sansa's face and she reached for Sandor's hand. _Josslyn has hit the mark, _Bran thought.

But her words gave him hope, she had spoken of finding what a person was worth, not by judging them by their appearance alone. He watched her, speaking to his siblings now as if she had known them her whole life. Arya and Sansa finally seeming at ease with their guest. She glanced at him, and when their eyes met, he saw a blush creep over her face again, and she tried to hide it by sipping at her wine.

When she finally excused herself from the table, Bran followed her. He saw her back to her room, chatting the whole way about nothing. He was trying to get the nerve to say what he really wanted to, but he found every time he tried, a knot would form in his stomach, making it impossible to speak. All too quickly they reached her door, and his heart gave a little leap in his chest. _Now or never, _he thought.

"Josslyn," he said halting her movement to open the door. She turned to him, her posture showing that she was at ease, but her eyes gave her away-her eyes were expectant, waiting on edge for something. "Care to go riding with me tomorrow?" he said quickly.

"I would like that very much," she said, her smile the happiest he'd seen. His heart leapt again, part of him wishing she would smile like this all the time, the other part wishing that she'd only smile like this for him. He bid her goodnight, and wheeled around speeding down the slanted halls of Winterfell. He had an idea.

~x~


	3. Chapter 3

**ChaCha here! So I've been on a roll lately. I love updating everyday. So just a reminder, I don't own anything, and I hope you enjoy!**

~x~

Josslyn had to hold in a girlish squeal when she closed the door behind her. _Don't get ahead of yourself,_ she thought. _He may be just being polite. _She silently hoped that he wasn't just being polite. She'd noticed the way that he'd been looking at her, but she'd be damned if he wasn't hard to read. Even her time at court, mincing words and trying to read into other peoples intentions, hadn't prepared her for the taciturn Lord Stark.

She chastised herself for not playing how she felt closer to the chest. All he had to do was look at her and she blushed, but he was stoic and so hard for her to read. She heard wolves howling outside, and went to the window. The three giant dire wolves of the Starks sat in the court yard, howling at the full moon. For a moment, in her glee she was greatly tempted to join in. She unlaced her gown and donned a woolen sleeping gown and crawled into bed listening to the strangely comforting song of the wolves, and was soon fast asleep.

When she woke the next morning, Josslyn could see that it was well after dawn, a fresh blanket of snow covering the castle. Quickly, she donned a warm grey woolen gown, brushed her hair, braiding it haphazardly, and dashed down the halls to the hall where everyone would be gathered for the meal. She looked around quickly but saw no sign of Bran at all, Sansa, Sandor, Arya and Gendry were still in the hall. She smiled brightly at the group to mask her disappointment, but Gendry's eyes seemed to see through it and he stared at her with no attempt at hiding his surprise.

"You slept well I trust?" Sansa smiled as Josslyn sat down.

"Yes," she laughed. "Thank you." Josslyn was pleased, only yesterday the red head was glaring daggers at her when she thought that no one was looking.

"The blasted wolves didn't keep you up?" Sandor asked with a bitter laugh.

"Not at all," Josslyn shook her head. "I found the howling rather pleasant actually." Arya and Sansa exchanged meaningful glances at one another, but Josslyn wasn't sure why. _Why should enjoying a wolves song be so strange? _she asked herself.

She ate with them, chatting politely with the Stark girls who seemed to be looking at her with renewed interest. "Where's Bran?" Gendry asked out of nowhere, but he stared at Josslyn, and she knew he could see the blush creep over her face when he said his brother in laws name.

"Who knows," Arya shrugged. "Tommen said he was up most of the night, working on something." Josslyn made note of this, and as soon as she had eaten she set out to find her cousin. Eventually she found him in the rookery, tending to the ravens who carried Winterfell's letters.

"You'll get nothing out of me cousin," Tommen said with a knowing smirk.

"So you do know what's going on?" Josslyn said flopping down in a chair. She glowered at her cousin, making no pretence to keep up the proper lady act. Tommen just laughed at her.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes," Josslyn said, confused at the change of topic. "Why?"

Tommen shrugged. "I know that ladies in love often forget simple things." She picked up a quill and threw it at her cousin, who just laughed. She thought back to Gendry's odd look over breakfast, and realized that he knew too.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly. Tommen just smiled, but didn't answer. He went about feeding the ravens who would occasionally break the silence by cawing or screeching.

"You two would suit each other I think," Tommen smiled. "It may also do much to heal some wounds long since inflicted." Josslyn bit her lip, she'd heard all the stories. She knew that it was her own kin responsible for the fall that crippled Bran, for the death of his father, for Sansa's imprisonment in the Red Keep. She had hoped to prove that not all Lannisters were the same, and she felt that she had done that, but would Bran reject her because of who she was? She didn't think so, but the horrible idea still gnawed at her killing the excitement that had fueled her all morning.

She changed for her ride with Bran. The day had warmed enough to melt the snow that had fallen in the night and the wool gown was now too warm. She climbed in the saddle of her dappled grey gelding, Fog, and waited as Bran was lifted into his own saddle. He looked over at her, as he was buckling his legs into the saddle, another one of her uncles innovations, and she smiled brightly.

"You ready?" he asked playfully.

"Just try to keep up," she replied. Her horse shot forward at the touch of her heals and through the gates of Winterfell to the wilderness beyond. Josslyn heard the thundering of hooves close behind her, and knew that Bran was close on her heels. She turned her head around too see Bran, laughing hard, taking her momentary distraction to speed past her. She muttered a curse under her breath and urged her horse faster.

Bran slowed to a trot, leading his horse up a small hill to a game trail, Josslyn followed suit and when she drew up beside him, he slowed to a walk. She turned her head, and stopped her grey horse in his tracks. Spread out before her were the rolling green hills of the North. She could make out a village half a league from the hill she stood on, smoke curling lazily from the chimneys. The sky was a grayish blue dotted with the occasional cloud. A wind swept from the west, blowing her loosely braided hair over a shoulder, and she closed her eyes drinking deep of the peaceful moment. "So what to you think of the North?" she turned to see that Bran had stopped behind her and was watching her closely.

"It's beautiful," she said turning back to the view. "A sort of wild beauty, that you don't really see in the south."

"You're right," he said "You don't get this kind of beauty in the south." Something in his voice made her think that he wasn't talking about the view, but when she turned his eyes were focused on the landscape before them. Her heart sank a little. _I'd hoped he was talking about me,_ she thought, and then chastised herself. "Come on," he said and with a soft command he urged his horse forward.

They rode for almost two hours, all the while Bran pointed out different places. The ruins of an old mill, the hill where some ancient battle had taken place between the First Men and the Children of the Forrest, the spot not far from where they rode where the queen had first landed in the North with her dragons.

"It's nearly midday," Josslyn said looking at the sun in the sky. "Shouldn't we head back?"

"Just a little farther," Bran smirked. Josslyn desperately wanted to know what was going on, but thought better than to ask. _He likely wouldn't tell me anyhow, _she thought shaking her head with a smile. She rather liked it when this side of Bran came out. Not Bran the Lord, or Bran the Brother, but something entirely different, it was spontaneous, warm and surprisingly relaxed. He lead her to a tall oak tree, and she saw that beneath it had been laid a blanket and a spread of cold meats and cheeses for lunch, a large squire stood at attention by the tree to help Bran from his horse.

"You did all this?" Josslyn could scarcely believe her eyes.

"I had some help," Bran laughed. The squire lifted Bran from his saddle and sat him leaned against the large tree, before disappearing. She sat down beside him, noticing that she might have sat too close, since Bran stiffened slightly. She looked over their feast, and noticed a small bowl of what appeared to be dried fruit in the middle of the blanket. She leaned over taking one in her hand, and instantly recognized it.

"Is this a dried peach?" she said incredulously. Bran nodded and laughed. "I love peaches."

"I know," Bran's eyes burned into hers.

"How?" Josslyn scowled playfully.

"I asked Tommen what your favorite was."

"That's cheating," Josslyn smiled as she popped the dried peach in her mouth. "They're sweeter dried." Bran laughed again and he watched her make a plate for him before serving herself. They ate and laughed and talked and laughed some more. Josslyn said a prayer to any god, old or new, not to let this day end. She'd never enjoyed herself so much before. She lay back on the soft grass and stared at the sky filtered though the leaves on the tree.

"Did you enjoy today?" she heard Bran ask off to her right. She closed her eyes and smiled.

"It could have been better," she answered teasing. She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. She noticed a shadow pass over her, and her eyes shot open, to see Bran's face hovering over her, his weight fully supported by his thick arms.

"Could have been better, huh?" he asked a sly smile on his lips that were only a breath away from hers, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

"Yes," she said her voice betraying none of the nervousness in her stomach. "Could have been better." Bran chuckled his warm breath tickling her lips. Nervously, she licked her lips, and noticed how his eyes were drawn to her lips at the small movement. The world seemed to stop, nothing existed outside this moment when his lips came down gently upon hers. Josslyn was stunned for a moment, but then returned the kiss, reveling in the feeling of his lips on hers. He brought one had up to cup her cheek gently. She panicked, not knowing what to do with her hands, but settled on wrapping them gently around his neck.

She heard the thunder of hooves coming nearer, and Bran pulled away from her with a curse, pushing himself back up and leaning against the tree. Josslyn shot up as if out of a trance, and began to straighten her hair, and dress. Her heart was racing from the kiss, and she knew that a deep blush was coving her face, and stood to await the riders. What she hadn't counted on was Bran taking her hand and brushing light kisses on her knuckles. She looked at him, startled and saw his coy smile, and she was sure that her heart stopped beating all together.

As the riders drew closer, Josslyn could make out the dire wolf sigil on the banners. "They're from Winterfell," she said noticing that he was still holding her hand.

"Help me up," Bran said with a frown. Josslyn looked at him confused. "If you can help me get my feet under me, and help keep my balance I can stand. I'd rather meet them standing." Josslyn nodded, crouched down, and Bran threw his arm around her shoulders. Standing required more effort on her part than she had thought, he was so much heavier than she looked. But between her and the tree they were able to get Bran on his feet, but his arm remained around her shoulders for balance. For the first time since they met, she looked up at him, and saw that he was very tall indeed. As if almost on instinct he pulled her tighter to him as the riders approached, his grip firm on her shoulder.

"Lord Stark," one of the men said when they'd reined in their horses. "Some travelers came to Winterfell begging sanctuary. A large band of thieves beset them on the road."

"Evan," Bran called and his squire seemed to appear from no where and took his weight from her shoulders, lifting him in to the saddle. She darted to her own horse, and deftly climbed into the saddle. "You can ride behind, if you want," Bran said concerned. "You don't have to keep pace, some of the men will stay with you." She heard the eager volunteers, but simply scowled at Bran, who burst out laughing. The riders seemed confused, until she yanked on the reins of Fog, causing him to rear back, Josslyn kept her seat and as his hooves touched the ground she flew back in the direction of Winterfell.

Most of the men had a hard time keeping the pace she set, but Bran galloped along side her as if it was nothing. The hours it took to traverse to the hill that morning flew by much faster, and before she knew it, Josslyn was riding side by side with Bran into the castle. She leapt from the saddle, and a stable boy came to take the horse from her, but Fog snapped at him, his ears laying flat on his head. Joss jerked the horses head by the reins so that one of his black eyes was staring at her, "Easy," she said firmly. The grey house whinnied in protest, but Josslyn put a hand on his cheek, soothing him. She handed the reins back to the boy who looked at them as if they might bite, but he took them and lead the horses away.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Bran asked from his chair. He stared at her in wonder, as if she'd done something impressive.

"Sewing," she replied honestly. Bran stifled a laugh as they made their way to the great hall. "Really, give me a pair of you breeches to mend, and I guarantee they'll look worse than they did before." Bran covered his laughter with a cough as the pair entered the hall. She watched as his posture became straighter, and his face became fiercer. She called him Bran the Lord, at times when he looked like this. She'd only seen it the first day she'd arrived in Winterfell, but it was as if he was channeling all the old kings of the north. He was suddenly stern, and methodical, not at all the carefree man who'd kissed her under the shade of the oak tree.

Josslyn stood off the left in the hall with Tommen, as Bran made his way to the dais alone. When he was settled, the great dire wolf Summer came trotting over and settled next to his master. The men were ushered in and they told Bran their story. They were on their way to the Wall when a group of about thirty thieves attacked them from nowhere. In the end the thieves had made off with their food, wine and whatever meager possessions the men had, but not before they had killed fifteen of the men who were traveling with them.

Bran sat and listened stone faced, not betraying any of his thoughts. In the end he'd dispatched some of his men to help them on the rest of their journey, but invited them to remain in Winterfell to tend their wounded and rest. The men were very appreciative and promised to repay the favor some how. Bran insisted that it was not necessary but the men would not listen. When they had left, Bran called Tommen forward.

"Send Jon a raven, let him know what happened," Bran frowned. "Let him know that he may want to send heavier guards with anyone traveling north until we've dealt with this problem. Then if you could seen to the wounded men. Also send birds to any keeps along the King's Road, have the lords send out armed patrols to ensure that this doesn't happen again."

"Of course my lord," Tommen bowed and left to send the ravens. Josslyn watched as Bran seemed to absentmindedly scratched Summer behind his ears as he called in several more people, asking that the new men be given rooms, fed and even ordered a party of forty of his own garrison to ride out at first light to see if they could flush the thieves out of hiding.

Dinner that night was a much more solemn affair. The adults were all talking about the attack on the men, so Josslyn distracted the children by telling them stories. She had just finished a particularly funny story about a giantess taking a wildling to breast, thinking it was her child, when the children were sent to bed. The all groaned in displeasure.

"Are you staying for Uncle Bran's name day?" little Robb asked her and she shot a look at Bran who flushed slightly. _He never mentioned his name day, _she thought.

"If your uncle would like me to," Josslyn said tussling his hair, the same way her own brother had when she was little. The children instantly turned to Bran with pleading eyes. Arya and Sansa even joined in telling Bran to let her stay.

"You're not in any hurry to get rid of your cousin, are you Tommen?" Bran asked teasingly.

"Well," Tommen said attempting to be serious, but was failing miserably, "I really would rather see the back of her," all the children protested, "But I suppose a few more days won't hurt anyone." The children cheered, jumping on Josslyn, tugging at her dress sleeves. It took Sandor's great booming yell to restore some semblance of order.

"You heard your mothers," he said sternly and pointed. All the children sagged and left. Josslyn started coughing to keep from laughing, but Sandor shot her a withering glare none the less. Arya joined in with a coughing fit of her own and she noticed Sansa smiling brightly.

"If you weren't a highborn lady," Sansa said sweetly, taking a small sip from her cup, "I might hire you as their nurse."

"You'd have to fight me for that," Arya said a twinkle in her eyes. Even Sandor laughed this time, lightening the dark mood around the table that talk of the thieves had brought. Josslyn stole a glance at Bran as he laughed, and decided that she liked the way he looked when he did. _He seems so at ease, _she thought with a small smile, she also noticed that Gendry and Sandor were watching her closely and she quickly moved her gaze.

When she left the table, Bran escorted her to her room again. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she walked in silence not knowing what to say. "I don't understand how such a large group could have formed with out anyone noticing," Bran said quietly.

"The North has many nooks and crannies," Josslyn sighed. "It doesn't really surprise me that they've gathered unnoticed." Josslyn was sad to see that they had already reached her door. She turned to look at Bran who seemed to be deep in thought. She smiled slightly at the sight of his brow wrinkled in thought. "Goodnight Bran," she said and turned to open the door, when a hand caught hers and pulled her down. She found herself perched on Bran's lap, his hands pulling her close, his lips placed on her own for the second time that day.

She leaned in to the kiss, her fingers burying themselves instinctively in his short dark hair. He groaned into her mouth sending shivers of pleasure down her spine and coiling between her legs. He caressed her waist and the hand around her neck began making it's way down her back. A whimper escaped unbidden from her mouth. He pulled her in to his hard chest, and his lips left hers making their way to her neck, where he nipped the sensitive skin lightly and then soothed it with a kiss. Josslyn didn't know what to do with herself, no one had ever kissed her like this before, no one had ever made her feel like this.

Just as suddenly started, Bran pulled his lips away from her, breathing heavily, and looked at her with burning hungry eyes. Josslyn shivered at the look in his eyes, but never looked away from him. He leaned in again and pressed her lips in a chaste kiss, "Goodnight Josslyn," he whispered heavily. She rose from his lap, her lips burning from the kisses, and walked in her open door, sparing one last look at Brandon Stark, before closing it behind her.

When the door was closed, she leaned against it running a finger over her sensitive lips. Then she realized that her door had been wide open. She looked panicked around her room and found Bran's enormous dire wolf, Summer, laying sprawled on her bed. Summer raised his head and looked at her, sniffing the air as he did. Josslyn moved slowly and opened the door behind her. She had heard that the dire wolves that followed the Starks didn't care for anyone save their masters. With the door open, Summer raised his lips in a snarl and jumped silently off the bed, moving closer towards her.

Josslyn tried to quell her fear as the wolf grew closer. Dogs she knew how to handle, but Summer was something else entirely. She stood there, trying not to let her fear overwhelm her, as Summer took his massive snout, and pushed the door behind her closed. He then turned to her with sad eyes and nuzzled her hand affectionately. Josslyn laughed, which seemed to startle the wolf for an instant, before he silently padded back over to her bed and curled up once more.

Josslyn eyed the wolf nervously as she changed and climbed into bed, but the dire wolf simply placed his head on her stomach and made a contented growling sound, before he fell asleep. Josslyn lay on her back, almost frightened to move, until she realized the wolf meant her no harm, and she placed a shaking hand on his head and rubbed his ears the same way she had seen Bran do, until she fell asleep, with Summer to keep the cold at bay.


	4. Chapter 4

**ChaCha Here: Let me just say this fraking chapter killed me. There are the book spoilers as promised but they are important to the way this story will frame in the future. I don't own anything. Thanks for all your support, all your kind reviews and your alerts. It's really great to know that people are enjoying this. Lots of Love to y'all.**

The next several days went by too quick for Bran's liking. Reports of the band of thieves began flying in the next day. They'd raided a village, but there were not causalities and fortunately the thieves had not set a torch to the village. They'd been spotted north and south of Winterfell, but when anyone gave chase seemed to vanish as quickly as they had come. His men had taken to calling them the Ghost Raiders, an apt name Bran thought.

He hadn't gotten to spend nearly enough time with Josslyn as he had hoped, his duties as the Warden of the North keeping him far to busy. She spent her days with Arya and Sansa's children mostly, who adored her more with each passing day. Sansa had invited her to join her sewing circle, and Josslyn had accepted hesitantly. She had warned her that her stitching was horrendous, but Sansa laughed it off saying "Well, it can't be any worse than Arya's."

From the jokes at dinner that night, he found that indeed her stitches were worse than Arya's, who Septa Mordane had proclaimed beyond hopeless. Though Sansa had tired to instruct her, Josslyn still spent most mornings dueling with Arya, and afternoons with the children or visiting Gendry in the forge.

Bran thought bitterly about her new friendship with his brother in law. It was not unusual for Gendry to spend most of his time in the forges, but for Josslyn it seemed strange. He knew that there was no romantic entanglement, for the Lord of Storms End had eyes only for his sister, but he still wished that she was spending those moments with him.

Summer's absence in his chambers too had been a bit strange. Bran had assumed that the dire wolf was spending his nights outside the castle walls hunting, until Sandor made a comment about the wolf following Josslyn around 'like a love sick pup.' That night he had joined his mind with Summer's, and found himself suddenly curled up beside Josslyn in her room, her small hand resting peacefully on his head.

Wearing Summer's skin he stretched his body, and looked at Josslyn as she slept. She looked so peaceful, so content, so unafraid of his wolf. In a moment of weakness he shifted and placed his head on her chest inhaling her scent deeply, before retreating into his own skin, returning Summer to his rest. Bran was suddenly jealous of his dire wolf, the sight of him curled up next to the woman who had stolen his heart was almost too much to bear. But he hadn't joined his mind with Summer's at night again, he knew that it was an invasion of her privacy even if she didn't know that he was there.

The times that he did get to spend with Josslyn were blindingly perfect. She was witty, smart and had a Lannister's quick tongue. They would go riding sometimes, though not without a garrison, but spent a lot of time in his solar. He would talk to her of the disturbing reports of the Ghost Raiders and she would listen, and comment with surprising acuity. Sometimes they would just sit in silence and read, or rather she would read and he would just stare at her. In these moments he would think of his mother and father, and wonder if this was what love was like. Having someone to share your troubles, to make you laugh, to simply sit quietly for hours on end enjoying the pleasure of someone's company.

Sometimes she would look up from her book and catch him staring, only to blush crimson and look back down. Every night after dinner, he would walk her room and kiss her. The kisses were becoming more and more passionate, his hands growing more daring, and Bran was having to try harder and harder to cool is libido. He wanted her, more than he'd wanted anyone or anything.

The dreams had started the first night that he'd kissed her, and they'd been innocent enough. He would be laying in his bed, trying to sleep when she would open the door and stealing into his room in the dark, crawling into his bed, resting her head on his shoulder to sleep. He would feel content and happy when he woke up the next morning, and his shoulder, where she had rested in his dream, burned with a pleasant warmth every time he thought of her.

But recently the dreams had become far more lust driven. She would still steal into his room, but she was entirely naked. He would take her hand and pull her on top of him, sheathing himself inside her, watching as she rode him, her large breasts in his hands, his lips on the cool, smooth skin of her neck, until she screamed in pleasure. When he woke from these dreams he was hard and frustrated, remembering the feeling of her walls clenching down on him. He'd started taking cold baths in the morning, but it did nothing for him. Anytime he saw her, anytime his eyes met hers, anytime he saw the alluring blush cross her cheeks, it would send him into a cloud of lust, the dreams leaping unbidden into his mind, her screams of pleasure echoing in his mind every time he heard her dulcet voice.

His sisters had gone a little crazy with the preparations for his name day feast. He had argued that he wanted a simple dinner with just the family, and Josslyn. But his pleas were being completely ignored. They'd invited every lord within a days travel, and several from even farther, all of whom would be there to feast and wish him well. Sansa had called for all sorts of performers, jugglers, singers, dancers, animal trainers all of whom would be performing that night. He'd had one request for them, one that they heeded happily-a surprise for Josslyn.

He had asked her to wait for him in her room, saying that he would come to get her before dinner that night. He'd panicked while dressing, casting about for something to wear, but nothing seemed right. Eventually he'd settled on a grey velvet tunic with a dire wolf embroidered in silver on his chest, with ivory woolen breeches. He'd wheeled himself down the halls to Josslyn's room, the trip seemed agonizingly long, and knocked on the door.

She answered the door in an instant, the most beautiful smile on her face. She was dressed in a beautiful long flowing gown of grey silk, that fitted slightly off her shoulders leading into long sleeves that fell nearly to the floor, her hair done up in a stunning array of braids all pinned to the back of her head so that the creamy skin of her lovely neck was perfectly visible. The smooth pale skin of her chest was visible, the neck line not too low to be considered inappropriate, but low enough to see the tops of her breasts bound by a corset underneath. His heart quickened when he saw her in the color of his house, and wondered if she had done it deliberately.

"We're matching," she laughed the sound tugged at his heart further. Bran simply raised an eyebrow and took her hand, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. He looked up and was pleased that she shivered at the contact. He saw a smoky colored blur and Summer burst from Josslyn's room, licking his master's face.

"Down," Bran commanded and Summer laid down on the ground looking up at him with disgruntled yellow eyes. "He seems to have taken a liking to you," Bran chuckled as they made their way down to the great hall.

"There's scarcely a night since I've been here that he doesn't find his way into my room." Josslyn rolled her eyes but smiled. "I haven't figured out how he manages the latch on the door though."

"Dire wolves are far more intelligent than most people give them credit for," Bran said knowingly as they crossed the court yard. She gave him an odd glance out of the corner of her eye, but didn't comment. Two guards opened the doors to the great hall that was already filled to the brim with guests, and he made his way to the high table, Josslyn at his side.

He knew that she must have noticed that the only spot open for her to sit was the Lady of Winterfell's chair to Bran's right, the chair his mother used to sit in that he'd had brought up from the cellars of Winterfell. But if she was surprised, she made not comment nor could you see it in her demeanor. She was all smiles and grace as they made their way slowly to the table, being forced to stop every so often to speak with someone. Bran's eyes flickered to the high table and saw Sansa smiling approvingly, and Gendry whispered something to Arya who burst out in uncontained laughter.

When they finally made it, Bran hoisted himself into the Lord's chair, and a page pulled out Josslyn's chair and she sat. Lords and knights were still hollering their best wishes for his name day. Josslyn leaned close to him, her breath warm and inviting on his neck.

"This is the Lady's chair Bran," she whispered so quietly as to not be overheard. Her eyes flickered to his and he smiled,

"I know." He was making a statement, a very public one at that, trying to show her that he was serious in his intentions. Josslyn was not just some fling, she was so much more than that. As soon as they were seated, the servants began to bring out the meal. Seven courses, all brought out at their own time. Fruit, fish, honey covered carrots, salad, roasted duck, potatoes roasted in butter in garlic and eventually spit roasted lamb. The children were constant rushing up to Josslyn, asking when she would get to tell stories, or to say that someone had said something rude, Sansa had to finally stop in and tell them to leave Josslyn to her dinner. Josslyn looked almost as chastised as the children did.

When the meal was finally done, tradition dictated that each member in attendance bid him good wishes for the next year. His sibling presented gifts. From Sansa and Sandor, he'd received a valyrian steel dagger that had a new hilt, made to match Ice, their father's sword that the queen had returned to him. From Arya and Gendry a set of bracers and greaves that Gendry had made for him. Then each of the Lords, Ladies and knights in turn approached the high table to wish him well.

Josslyn had not been wrong when she had said that there was little love of the Lannisters in the North. Many of the Lords made their distaste of her evident in their cold greeting. But within moments Josslyn turned them around and Lords and knights alike were hanging on her every word, the Ladies impressed with her gentility. During the course of the entertainments, she had two jesting marriage proposals and one serious one.

A young Lord Robb Umber had approached the table and very seriously asked for her hand. He was two years her junior and had clearly fallen mad in love with her. Josslyn gave him a bright smile, "Lord Umber, I'm sad that I must decline, but," she reached out and took his hand, making Bran surge with jealously, "If I ever find my self in need of a good husband, I swear I will look no further." Lord Umber smiled at her kind refusal and bowed wishing Bran a happy name, before leaving the table. Bran could swear that he saw the young lord's eyes dampen with tears as he left.

When the word spread of Lord Umber's proposal, a very drunk Lord Karstark leapt from the table, bellowing over the singer, "Lady Josslyn, marry me." An equally drunk Lord Bolton swore on his life he'd make a better husband than the fool Karstark. The two men, grabbed tourney swords and in over exaggerated movements, claimed a duel to the death for her hand. When their mock battle was over, Bolton lay on the floor moaning loudly in defeat and Karstark dashed up the ramp to claim Josslyn's hand in victory, Sansa was fuming over the crude game ruining her proper evening.

Karstark made it to the table, and raised an embarrassed, but laughing Josslyn's hand the drunk crowd cheering. "I fear that I might not enjoy being wedded to a man who'd kill his friend over a simple matter of my hand, Lord Karstark. I fear the blood might stain my gown," she said with a sarcastic pout that sent the crowd into bawdy laughter. Lord Karstark leaned close and whispered, "Not as much a stain and your maiden blood would leave." Bran would have killed him where he stood, had Josslyn not placed a warm hand on his clenched fist as she said loudly, "You'll have to content yourself with a dance my lord, but I fear I'm no better a dancer than Lord Bolton is with a sword." With another bout of laughter the matter was settled.

Eventually the tables were cleared and the musicians began to play, and Karstark claimed Josslyn's hand for his hard won dance. She smiled at Bran, who wished he could punch Karstark in the jaw and dance with her himself. He watched jealously as she was spun about the floor by Karstark and then Bolton, before Gendry stepped in an claimed her hand, saving her from another drunken knight. Bran had to smile to himself while he watched her dance though. She was all grace and ease and laughter. Such a contrast to the steely demeanor expected of him as Lord of Winterfell.

_She never misses a beat, _he thought with a smile. Karstark was one of the men who had been the coldest with her when Bran had introduced him, but she'd won him over quickly with that silver tongue and sharp wit of hers. He watched as poor, love struck Lord Umber claimed her hand after Gendry and wondered if he looked as moon-eyed as Umber did when he looked at her. After two more partners, Josslyn claimed exhaustion and returned to her seat, where she gave Bran's hand a small squeeze and she remained by his side the rest of the evening.

Eventually, everyone was either too drunk or too tired to carry on, and began to depart. Josslyn rose and excused herself. Bran offered to see her back to her room, but Josslyn shook her head. "I can find it on my own," she smiled happily at him. "You enjoy your party." As he watched her leave, Lords Karstark and Bolton close at her heels, he realized he didn't give a damn about the feast or the singers or the dance or any of it.

Later that night Bran was propped up against the headboard of his bed, scouring new reports of the Ghost Raiders and marking where they'd hit on a map. He could discern no detectable pattern. The attacks seemed random. The didn't seem to be heading north or south, or any other direction. They seemed to be camped not far from Winterfell, that much he could guess, but no matter how many men he sent out in however many directions, no one could seem to find them.

He was lost in thought when he heard a quiet knock on his door. "Come in," he called sharply, but regretted it instantly when Josslyn poked her head in.

"It's late," she said apologetically. "I can come back tomorrow."

"No," Bran said leaning forward, and he felt his demeanor change, from the frosty lord to the love sick fool. "Please." He gestured to a chair near his bed. He watched with interest as she breezed in with a bundle in her hands. Josslyn sat and blushed a little before handing it to him. "What's this?"

"Your name day gift," she smiled but still looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't think it'd be done in time, and I wanted to give it to you away from everyone else." Bran chuckled as he unwrapped perhaps the oddest contraption he'd ever seen. They were two long pieces of sturdy looking steel that were folded in half with an odd sort of hinge in the middle. A wide flat piece was at one end of both the pieces and at the other end they seemed to be bound together with what could only be described at a girdle, or a brace.

"Josslyn," he said his voice a mixture of laughter and confusion. "It's very thoughtful but I have no idea what this is."

"When I was in King's Landing," Josslyn smiled though her eyes portrayed the slightest hint of irritation, "I listened for weeks as men and women alike told the queen of a swindler posing as a miracle man. They all told the same story, he'd pick a man out of the crowd who would was someone that no one knew, but he said he'd been unable to walk his whole life. He'd show off his legs to the crowd and you could plainly see that they were malformed. The swindler would give him a serum to drink and lo and behold he was suddenly able to stand."

"People would buy the serum in droves, but when they got it home it was nothing more that wine deluded with milk and honey. Eventually the city watch caught up with him, and the queen asked him one question only, 'How did you do it?' After a few minutes the swindler confessed that it was all a trick, the queen already new that. He told her of a particularly clever device that he had crafted that would allow the man to be able to stand with practice. She sent him to the Wall saying that perhaps his ingenuity would help defend the realm, but she took the invention for closer study. I was able to take a pretty close look at it and Gendry kindly helped me piece it together. You see when rod is straitened it locks in place…"

Bran didn't care how it worked or even if it worked. This was possibly the kindest, most thoughtful gift that anyone could have given him. He leaned forward quickly and pulled Josslyn into a searing kiss. He pulled her so that her full weight was resting on top of him, her chest pressed tightly against his. She was so surprised buy the suddenness of the kiss and the change in her position that it took a moment before she returned the kiss with equal vigor, throwing a leg of his and straddling him. He lightly licked her full bottom lip and she moaned into his mouth, giving him the opportunity he was waiting for.

His tongue darted into her mouth, caressing hers, and he felt her whole body begin to tremble on top of him, tongues in a battle for dominance which he knew she would not easily give. His hands found their way to her waist, and drifted below, feeling the curve of her hips. She wound her fingers into his hair and he groaned appreciatively.

Bran's hands drifted around to clasp her bottom he pulled her harder against him so that her core was directly above his pelvis, the warmth and pressure nearly making him loose his mind. She shivered again, as his hands drifted back to her hips and down her legs, hiking up her gown so that he could feel her skin, something he'd desperately wanted to do since he'd met her. Her skin was even softer that he ever could have dreamed, and his fingers dug into her skin greedily.

Josslyn pulled her lips away from his and began to trail kisses down the sensitive skin of his neck. Bran clasped her hips in response forcibly grinding her into his hardness. She squealed in delight at the new sensation, and began to grind again and again, making Bran's mind submit into a cloud of lust driven frenzy. He grabbed the back of her head in his hand and smashed his lips on hers, groaning as her tongue boldly darted into his mouth. He pulled away from the kiss, exhaling heavily and met her eyes so full of desire that he didn't want to stop. He chuckled slightly and brought his forehead to rest on her, feeling her sigh deeply.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed," Josslyn said sarcastically not missing the opportunity, and Bran just pulled her closer. There was no way around it, he was in love with this girl. He may have been ten years older than she was but that was it, he was done for. He'd send a raven to Catserly Rock immediately and beg her father to give him permission to marry her. Soon he'd meet her in the gods wood and stand with her before the heart tree.

His eyes shot open. He couldn't stand. He was crippled. He wasn't whole. She deserved someone more than what he was. His heart plummeted from beyond joy, to utter despair, when he realized that he couldn't be with her. "Josslyn," his voice was shaky, "I think you should go." She looked him in the eyes, hers so full of confusion, so full of passion. He dreaded the next words, "You need to leave Winterfell."

Josslyn shot up, her eyes betraying anger and sadness. "What?"

"You need to leave," Bran affirmed. "This, whatever this is, can't happen." _Why wouldn't she just leave? _he thought. _It would be so much easier if she just left me alone instead of looking at me like that. _

"Bran," she stared at him, tears already forming in her eyes. "I thought…"

"I thought too," he interrupted. "But I was wrong. You deserve so much more."

"More than what?" she took his hand and he quickly grabbed it away.

"More than this," Bran snarled, desperately trying not to yell. "You deserve someone who is whole, some one who can carry you over the threshold, some one who can run after your children. Someone who can give you more than I can."

"I don't care," she tried to say.

"You will," Bran snarled to cover the choke in his own voice. "One day you will." He looked up at her eyes, the eyes that haunted every waking moment and saw it. Pity. The pity that she never once had shown him, that he foolishly thought she didn't have, was there written on her perfect face. "Get out," he whispered angrily. Josslyn rose, untangling her limbs from his and stormed off to the door. She stopped as she reached the door, her back to him, but he didn't need to see her face to know that she was devastated, he could see it in her posture.

"Good bye then, Lord Stark," she said coldly from the door. She opened it and was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**ChaCha again, Yet another chapter for all my darling readers. Book spoliers, I don't own anything, you know the drill. Thanks to all of you for supporting this story. Lots of Love. **

Josslyn slammed the door as hard as she could behind her, before running. Tears blurred her vision, but her feet knew what to do. She found a servant and asked them to tell her garrison to be ready to ride as early as possible. The servant stared at her tear stained face and disheveled hair, but Josslyn didn't give a damn what he thought. She left him standing in the hall and ran back to her room. When she threw the door open she saw Summer waiting patiently on her bed. The tears came harder. When she looked at Summer, all she could see was Bran. In a fit of rage, she grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck, instantly realizing her mistake as she heard him growl, but he never turned to bite her.

She dragged the dire wolf to the open door and tossed him out, and before he could turn around and dart back into her room, she screamed at him "No, you thrice damned wolf, get out!" Summer barred his lips in a silent snarl, but all her fear of the wolf was gone. She knew he wouldn't hurt her.

"Hear me roar indeed," she glanced beyond the wolf to see Sandor standing in the hall, and if her appearance surprised him, it didn't show on his half burned face.

"Get out, Hound," she snarled, the noise harsh and angry to her own ears, and she turned around slamming the door behind her and bolting it shut behind her. She took several steps to the bed, but collapsed on the floor in a pathetic heap before she made it half way there. She sobbed, yelled and pulled her hair. She didn't care what anyone thought of her right now, her grief was too huge to care. She was vaguely aware of Summer throwing himself against the door, clawing and whining to get in, but she just ignored him. The wolf was a constant reminder of Bran, and she couldn't handle it.

She'd fallen in love with him nearly as soon as she'd met him. He'd ridden up to her on the road, so proud, so confident, that she instantly knew who he was, without even looking at the dire wolf emblazoned on his cloak. When they had had dinner together, it was all over for her. She remembered the day that she'd asked her mother how she would know she was in love. Her mother had smiled, "That's a hard thing to explain my little love, I knew the instant I saw your father. I felt like I could be myself around him. He was the air that I so desperately needed to breathe, the food that gave me nourishment, the blood that coursed though my veins"

Summer had finally given up at the door, but Josslyn remained on the floor unable to move. _Stop this,_ she thought. _You're a gods damned Lannister, have a little pride._ But even those thoughts wound move her. Her mother's words kept echoing in her head. _My air, my nourishment, my life. _She lay there for what felt like hours until she heard a commotion outside the door. _Summer must have come back, _she thought. But she heard voices, all familiar.

"Lady Josslyn," she heard Sansa call through the door. She wanted to tell her to go away but when her mouth opened, her voice failed her. _How could he not think he was good enough?_ she thought. _How could he think I gave two shits about him not walking._ It was him she loved, not a handsome Lord, not a tall powerful man, but her Bran. He put her soul at ease, an ease she sorely missed right now. There were more voices outside the door now. _Why won't they just leave me be?_

An all mighty crash echoed around the room as her door was kicked in, but still she didn't even flinch. Strong arms picked her up off the floor and she heard hushed voices giving orders. She was laid on the bed, and felt Summer's weight at the foot. "Stupid wolf," she muttered to herself, not knowing if she was speaking of Summer or his master. She felt delicate hands brush the hair from her face and she looked up to see Sansa standing over her. Josslyn had never been more glad that Sansa looked nothing like Bran before.

"Are you ill?" Sansa asked, her blue eyes boring into her. Josslyn summoned the energy to shake her head. "Do you need me to call Tommen?" Again Josslyn could only shake her head. She hated herself for being so weak. _My air, my nourishment, my life. _"Please Josslyn," Sansa implored, dropping all her courtly manners, "Tell me what's wrong." This time Josslyn couldn't even shake her head, she just trembled as another wave of sobs wracked her body. She felt Summer place his head on her thigh, in an attempt to comfort her. _Why doesn't he just go back to his master? It's not as if I'm important._ She'd always thought of the constant presence of the wolf as yet another sign of Bran's affection, but it was clear the wolf was just confused.

Sansa had just placed a cool cloth on Josslyn's neck, when Arya came stomping in through the permanently open door. "You didn't have to kick it in Sandor," she snapped before dragging her sister away and speaking to her in hushed voices. When Sansa returned to her side, she clasped her hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry Josslyn. But he'll come around." Josslyn laughed bitterly, the sound horrible to her own ears. She just shut her eyes and tried to sleep.

The captain of her garrison came to her at first light, telling her they were ready to ride. After Arya and Sansa had left her last night, thinking she was asleep, she had risen and packed her things, leaving only the dark blue silk gown, that she had worn to dinner her first night in Winterfell. She was aware that it was foolish to wear the gown riding, but she didn't care. If she was to leave, it'd be in a fashion that would leave a lasting memory on Lord Stark.

She brushed her hair, wondering where she should go. Lords Karstark and Bolton had invited her to visit, and although she could use their humorous, bawdy company, she knew that everything in the North would remind her of him. She looked in the polished mirror and saw that she looked only a little better than she felt. Her eyes were rimmed with red from lack of sleep, her pale skin looking sickly and her normally bright and alive eyes were glossed over with sadness.

She pinched her cheeks in an attempt to give a little color back to her ashen face, quickly braided her hair and dressed grabbing a large heavy woolen cloak. Her captain was waiting for her outside her room, watching her with worried eyes. He'd been with her family for years before Casterly Rock, and knew her as well as her own father. He knew when something was wrong, but was smart enough to keep his own council.

When she set foot in the courtyard, Arya and Sansa's children pounced on her, begging her not to go. She smiled brightly at them, a smile she knew didn't quite reach her eyes. "If your parents would like," she told them wrapping her arms around each of the children individually. "You can all come south and visit Casterly Rock. I'd be more than happy to see you all again."

"Are there lions?" Eddard's eyes widened with excitement.

"Yes," Josslyn whispered and the children all drew near. "But they eat children." All the little ones laughed and told her she was kidding, before returning to their parents, already begging to visit her. She could see Bran among his siblings, just watching her with his dark eyes, but she wouldn't look at him.

"You shouldn't leave yet," Arya suddenly very serious, her grey eyes on the equally grey sky.

"A storm's coming," Sandor nodded, rubbing his shoulder. Josslyn turned her eyes to the sky and saw that indeed a light snow had begun to fall. _And I used to love the snow so much, _she thought bitterly. _Now it will only be another reminder of him._

"I fear, my lord," she said evenly, "That I have over stayed my welcome." She couldn't avoid it any more, she turned to Bran, curtseying politely. "Lord Stark, thank you for your hospitality." She refused to look him directly in the eye, Josslyn didn't think she was strong enough for that. She waited for a moment, but Bran said nothing. Josslyn climbed into Fog's saddle, who was already pawing the ground anxiously and put her heals to him, and galloped out of Winterfell.

They rode all day, making it to a small inn before dark. The accommodations were no where near the level of Winterfell, but Josslyn didn't even notice them. She'd hardly looked around on the ride, didn't take in any scenery, didn't look with wonder as she had on every ride she'd taken since she'd been here, or even with the unrestrained joy of her trip North, she just stared at her horses hooves as they kicked up snow on her trip home. She had decided that Casterly Rock was the best place for her to go. Her mother would help heal her heart, she'd understand her pain.

Early the next morning they were on their way again. Fog was anxious, he was skirting sideways with nearly every step, pawing at the ground every time they stopped to rest, and even Josslyn couldn't keep him in check. She looked at the darkening sky and noticed that it had gotten colder, and the snow was falling harder now.

"Perhaps we should turn back to the inn," her Capitan said as he pulled his roan along side her, watching her with heavy eyes. But before she could agree or disagree, she heard the thundering of hooves signaling the approach of several riders. The King's Road in front of her was empty, and she craned around in her saddle to look behind them, but it too was vacant of any riders. Suddenly she remembered.

"Ghost Raiders," she cried. The captain drew his sword and smacked Fog on his hind quarters sending the horse flying down the road. Two of her garrison followed her, swords drawn riding hard beside her. The wind blew the snow hard into her face, as she rode. She could hear the clang of swords behind her, and prayed that her men would be alright, but knew the odds. If Bran's reports were accurate, then they out numbered her own men three to one.

Ahead of her, three riders came from nowhere, dark scarves tied around their faces. Josslyn wheeled Fog to the left, flying through the tall grasses to the west of the road. Another small group of men were waiting for her, she yanked on Fog's reins, wheeling him back the way she'd come, but found that she'd been surrounded, the men behind her blades gleaming in fresh blood. She reached for her knives, but felt the caress of wet steel under her chin.

"We'll have none of that little Lannister bitch," a gruff voice barked. She stared at the blue eyes before her, being able to see nothing over his tight scarf, and she saw all that she needed to know in the blue orbs. He would happily kill her, but thought that she was worth a pretty penny. "Get off the horse, girl."

As calmly as she could she dismounted from Fog and stood up strait, not fearing to look any of them in the eyes. She knew that any sort of weakness could mean torture or rape. A man began to check her for weapons, much to her dismay, and found the pair of wickedly sharp knives that she had strapped to her hips. He shoved his hands down the front of her dress, under the pretense of looking for more knives. Josslyn stood unflinching, but was screaming in her mind at the violation. But when his hands began to slide up her legs and cup her sex, it was too much to bear. Quick as a flash she pulled the mans own long dagger from his belt and thrust it in to his lung, knowing that his death would be slow and suffocating.

A hand sharply collided with her cheek, breaking the skin of her lip, and a trickle of blood began to fall to her chin. Two Raiders grabbed her arms, and before she could put up much fight Josslyn was forced to the ground, her arms pulled behind her painfully straining from their sockets. She winched, but never cried out, she would never give them the pleasure. Instead she took a mental inventory of her weapons. Her daggers on Fog's saddle had been taken, the ones on her hip, and the one in her thick leather riding boot, but they had missed the cleverly concealed thin knife in her hair, thinking it nothing more than a silver hair pin.

_Bide your time, Joss, _she warned herself. She felt a sharp kick to her ribs and bit her already bruised lip to keep from crying. When the pain had subsided she glanced at the man who was gasping for breath on the ground and had to force herself to keep a smile off her face.

"She killed Gavin," one of the men snarled.

"Not yet," the man with the blue eyes said with some amusement. "The bitch has claws. Don't touch her unless you no longer value your life." The blue eyed man climbed off his horse and with quick practiced movements, cut the dying man's throat. Josslyn was pulled up by her arms and the blue eyed man simply stared, "If you were so valuable, I'd kill you now," he snarled.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a saddle, another man tied one foot with a long rope, the other end, tied to the pummel of a saddle.

"Clever," she said with as much distain as she dared. "If I try to escape I'll be dragged behind a horse before I could get my feet under me." A sharp slap collided with her cheek, a bruise forming instantly and she glared at the offender. He was the one with the blue eyes, the one with the blood soaked sword.

"Speak again and I'll run you through," he snarled. Josslyn made a show of rolling her eyes, but said nothing. She knew it would be a horrible idea to aggravate them, as much joy as it would have brought her in what she assumed would be her final hours. The Ghost Raiders rode hard, down the hills and into a small unassuming valley. Josslyn looked around for any sign of a camp, but found nothing. Her fingers appeared to work nervously at the sleeves of her gown, but she tore at the threads and silk with a purpose. Small swatches of sapphire blue cloth littered the path down which she rode.

Part of her felt like this was futile, Bran had turned her away, sent her packing from Winterfell like they'd meant nothing to each other. But another part of her, a much smaller part, knew that he would find her, but the storm was getting fiercer and even if he did follow her she knew it was unlikely that he'd ever find her trail in the fresh blanket of snow.

As they neared the end of the valley, she saw a large wall of brambles, but nothing else as her captors pulled their horses to a stop. The veil of brambles was moved aside by someone she couldn't see and the Ghost Raiders spurred their horses forward. She heard a loud whinny and a grunt, and looked over just in time to see Fog, pulling free of the man who lead him along, racing back the way he had come.

"Let the horse go," a voice from behind the curtain of brambles called. And Josslyn's head spun back around to see who had given the order. A tall thin man stood their as if he was a lord greeting a visitor. "Good, you found the little lion bitch," he sneered at Josslyn, his eyes betraying a bit of lust. She could see that he wore battered and worn, leather armor and instantly she knew him to be a sell sword.

"Caught her little more than a day from Winterfell," the blue eyed man barked. "Her garrison is dead so there shouldn't be anyone to alert that she's been taken.

"Where's Gavin?" the man in the leather armor asked.

"The bitch killed him," the blue eyed man pushed her from the horse and Josslyn landed hard on the cold snow covered ground. "He was having a bit of fun and she had a knife." The man in the leather armor began to walk closer to her and she dared not do anything, but stare defiantly in his cold, nearly black eyes. He smirked in response to her glare, and simply grabbed her by the hair, dragging her into the cave that was hidden behind the brambles.

"Don't go killing anymore of my men," he said as he drug her, trying to force her to cry out.

"Keep your men from harming me and I won't have to," Josslyn sneered, happy that her trained voice held none of her fear. Without any more words, he flung her against the wall, near hard enough to break a limb, and tied her foot to a metal stake in the ground. The men went about making camp, watering the horses, making a meal. No one spoke to her, no one offered her food or drink, and Josslyn was almost thankful for that as she huddled shivering against the cold under her cloak. She was terrified, though she thought she did well of feigning discontented distain. She was afraid that she throw up anything they gave her. After a while the men banked the fire and settled down to sleep. She fought it for hours, pinching herself hard enough to bruise beneath her cloak to keep from falling under the spell of sleep, but eventually she succumbed, alone, battered and terrified under her heavy cloak.

~x~

The day she left Winterfell had nearly killed him. Bran watched as she climbed into her saddle, looking at him, without looking at him. He wondered how she did it, to seem so gathered and confident when all he felt inside was hollow.

When she had slammed the door behind her, Bran had to fight the instinct to go to her. His hands shook hard as he brought them up to touch the spot where only moments before she had caressed with the most incredible of kisses. He sat there for hours, replaying everything in his mind, _It's for the best, _he kept telling himself. _It was your decision. _

Arya came bursting in through the door suddenly, leaping at her brother with surprising speed. "What did you do to Josslyn?" her hands grasping at the collar of his shirt.

"Don't say her name," Bran shouted as her wrenched his sister's hands from his shirt with a strength that surprised even him.

"Josslyn," Arya goaded, and Bran flinched at the name. Arya strung a line of curses that would have made Sandor blush and sat herself on the edge of the bed. "What happened?" Bran took a deep breath and told her, leaving out only the intimate kisses that he had shared with her. When he had finished his tale, Bran watched the emotions flicker over his sisters face. Arya had never been able to hide what she was thinking, least of all from him. "So," Arya said after a while. "You'd forsake your own happiness for some half cocked idea that you are not good enough for her?"

"Many Lords live their whole lives with no happiness," His gaze flickered to the window and he head his sister growl, "Summer came to get me. He dragged me by the shirt sleeve back to her room, where Sansa was alrfeady knocking trying to get her to talk. Joss…She'd bolted the door from the inside and wouldn't speak to anyone. Sandor kicked down the door, and do you know what we saw?" Arya paused her, clearly trying to elicit some response, but Bran remained gazing out the window, as if the moonless sky held something of interest. "She was lying on the floor, the only reason we knew she was alive was because she was sobbing."

"She won't talk to Sansa, she won't look at Summer, the only thing she said was "Stupid Wolf," Arya shook her head, but Bran still refused to look at her.

"Why do you tell me this?" he asked finally, surprised by the cold steely sound to his voice. "It's done. She'll be leaving." He felt the sting of the slap on his face before he heard the sound, Arya standing over him.

"You are cold, Brandon Stark," she whispered. "So much colder than our dead father's tomb," and she breezed out of the door, slamming it behind her. In truth, Arya's words hurt worse than her slap.

The next morning, he watched her. She seemed so poised, so calm, but he knew she wasn't. Her eyes were red rimmed and glazed over. She said her goodbyes with nothing but the courtesy that he's come to expect from her, but when she looked at him, the hollow spot in his chest grew even larger. She thought he couldn't see it, she thought she was hiding it, but he could see the sadness, the tears that crept into her eyes, but she had managed to put her heals to Fog and she galloped away.

Bran couldn't remember the rest of the day, only small snippets. Screaming at a servant, shooing Summer away as the wolf followed him, whimpering. He knew he hadn't eaten, but he wasn't hungry. Somehow at dusk he found herself in her room. He stared at her bed, wondering if it still smelled like her, when he heard footsteps behind him.

"So you're really letting her go then?" Gendry said behind him.

"She deserves more," Bran choked out finally.

"So does your sister," Gendry said firmly. Bran spun his chair around to find Gendry leaning against the shattered door, that would need to be replaced.

"What do you mean?" Bran glared at his brother in law.

"Arya deserves more than a bastard," Gendry shrugged. "She's a proper born lady, though she don't act like one, and I'm nothing more than a baseborn bastard of a king." Bran opened his mouth to protest, but Gendry raised a large hand to stop him. "No one knows how you feel better that I do Bran," his bright blue Baratheon eyes boring into his. "But you're a damned fool. We can't go though life alone, try as we might, we'll fail without those who love us, however strange it may seem to the world outside. Even if it is a bastard and a lady, a Hound and a Little Bird, a child of the desert and a child of snow or even cripple and a Lannister." Gendry just gave Bran another sharp look and left without another word.

That night, Bran couldn't sleep. He sent to Tommen for a sleeping draft, and nearly as soon as his eyes closed, the dreams began. She stole into his room, and he made love to her. Sated for the first time since the dreams began, she curled into his side, one leg thrown over his, and whispered "Don't make me go Bran, please." Suddenly she stood before him, in that alluring blue gown, and with tears in her eyes turned and walked away from him. He rose to follow her, even the sensation of walking in dreams was odd to him. He followed her to the courtyard, and saw that she was no longer her, but a lion. The lion turned to him with her sad green eyes, and padded out the gates of Winterfell.

Bran watched her go, and screamed when he saw ropes come from nowhere and wrap around his lioness, who fought at every turn. She roared mournfully but finally she was brought down, and a line of shimmering horse bound figures came from out of the fog, closing in on her. Bran woke with a scream, and pulled himself into his chair, speeding down the dark deserted halls of Winterfell, to his find his captain at arms. He sent men to follow her, and sat waiting in the snow of the courtyard until well into the afternoon, awaiting some word, but he knew what had happened to her.

_How could I have been so stupid?_ he thought over and over again. His siblings held his vigil, watching from the corner of their eyes, waiting for him to say something. He didn't care that his strange behavior would only fuel the rumors of the green sighted warg, Lord of Winterfell. It was nearing dark when Fog came galloping back, rider less, and he ordered the grey to be fitted with his own saddle.

"But milord," the stable master protested. "This fool hearty horse has not been properly trained, it's a wonder that the lady was even able to ride him," Bran silenced him with a hand. Gendry, Rickon and Sandor ordered their horses as well, and accompanied by two dozen men, Bran joined his mind with Fog's and rode of south east, to the valley he could see so clearly in the horses mind.

**So I feel a double update coming today…possibly. I'm a few chapters a head and just going back through and tweaking and editing. I'm having so much fun with this story that I just can't wait to put the next few chapters up so that you all can read it!**


	6. Chapter 6

**ChaCha here! You all know that I'm not GRRM or HBO, (although sometimes when I talk, I think all my husband hears is static… ;) Hope you enjoy! I will warn you, there are pretty strong allusions to rape, for any of you who may be squimish (I hated doing it but it's a great foray into some kick ass bad ass Josslyn violence.) Thanks for all your kind words and alerts. You guys are fraking fantastic. **

Josslyn sighed as she dreamt of Bran's slightly calloused hands, and feathering touch. His teeth nipped at her skin, and his large strong hands grabbed her by the waist. "Bran," she moaned.

"Don't be calling another man's name sweeting," Bran's voice crooned in her ear. Suddenly the hands were no longer his-they were too calloused, the lips weren't his-the kisses too sloppy. Rough hands pushed her legs apart, and Josslyn's eyes shot open. The scream that tore from her throat was silenced by the horrid, dirty calloused hands that covered her mouth. Sickening lust filled muddy brown eyes raked over her body, as one of the Raiders situated himself between her thighs, urgently pulling her small clothes away.

With every ounce of strength she had she grabbed the horrid man by the throat, her finger nails drawing blood. It didn't stop him, but it startled him enough that she was able to reach for her only remaining weapon, the knife hidden as a hair pin. She ripped it from her hair, she with a quick movement, slashed it across the rapists throat, iron tasting blood gushing from his neck and splattering across her face and chest.

The Raiders began to yell and curse as she pushed the dead body off her own, and brandished her small knife. _I can't kill them all, _she thought despondently, _But I can take some of them to hell with me. _She smiled grimly and leapt at the nearest Raider her knife raised. The small blade cut through the skin of his thigh, slicing through his artery as if it was butter, and turned and jabbed the knife through the wind pipe of another, before she felt the flat of a sword come down hard on her back, breaking skin.

She couldn't help it this time, she was unprepared and screamed out in pain, her voice echoing though out the loud cave. Three men jumped on her as soon as she was down. One binding her hands, another with his knee between her shoulder blades, the last taking her own blade and bringing it to rest at her throat.

"Stop," the leather armored man bellowed over the cries and chants urging her own death. Everyone froze. "You want your fucking ransom or not?"

"Marcas," one man yelled. "The cunt has killed four of us already." The men pulled her to her feet, the leather armored man, Marcas, standing in front of her his sword out of his sheath.

"This cunt is worth a lot of money, not only to the Winterfell cripple but to the Rock," Marcas said with a revolting caress of her cheek. Josslyn didn't know which infuriated her more, calling her a cunt-a word which she despised more than anything, or calling Bran 'the Winterfell cripple', but either way she let our an animalistic roar, and moved to bite Marcas' stubby fingers off.

Marcas' mailed fist collided with her ribs and she heard a horrible crack, and the pain was so unbearable that she screamed again, only gathering her wild defiance to spit at Marcas. Josslyn was thrown to the ground, and a foot collided with her already injured ribs, making her cry, the tears caking mud on her cheeks.

"Spit on me again you little bitch," Marcas' voice growled in her ear, "And I'll be the first to rape you." Josslyn couldn't hold it in anymore, the pain in her ribs, her fear, and the ache in her heart were all to much for her to bear, and she descended into a terrified huddle and let herself cry.

The Raiders left her alone for the rest of the night, most of them shooting her rage filled looks, as if they'd love nothing more that to strangle the life out of her. It was just after dawn, when the blue eyed man came a lifted her in to his saddle, tying her foot to the pummel once again, and began to ride.

After a few hours she got up enough courage to ask where she was being taken. "Marcas still hasn't decided. The Rock will pay more for their little bitch, but Winterfell is closer, less of a chance one of us will kill you." After a while, he spoke again. "That was my brother who's throat you cut last night little bitch." Josslyn scoffed.

"What do you want?" she asked the words jumping to her lips before she could stop them. "You want me to apologize for killing the man who'd have raped me? Well you'll not get it." The blue eyed man jabbed her hard in her injured ribs and she cried out, and decided to bite her tongue for the rest of the day.

She saw shadows in the edges of her vision all day. She dismissed them as a trick of the light and the hard snow that was beating down on them as they rode east, but when she kept seeing it, she prayed to any god that was listening that it was Summer. She told herself it was the right shape to be the dire wolf, though darker and appeared a bit smaller, but the idea that Summer at least was coming for her gave her hope.

It was after dark, when she heard the thunder of hooves. The blue eyed man was distracted for an instant, but that was enough. She grabbed his dagger from his belt, and drove it through his neck before cutting the rope that bound her foot to the saddle and leapt down ignoring the pain in her ribs and heart, she simply ran. She thought she heard Bran calling her name, but she ran anyhow, _Just wishful thinking, _she told herself. _Even if he changed his mind, there is no one to raise the alarm. _

Josslyn ran for an hour before, a mass of dark fur collided with her body knocking her to the ground. She whipped around, whishing she had kept the knife she'd stabbed the blue eyed man with, until she saw the yellow eyes of Summer, and threw her arms around the wolf with a great sob. The wolf growled and tried to recoil, but Josslyn held firm. The wolf began to calm and nuzzled her, pushing her away slightly.

She let go, and watched Summer stare at her with confused eyes, before he let out a gruff and began to walk away from her, but north west, towards Winterfell. Josslyn, pulled herself off the ground, not even bothering to noticing that she was soaked through with melted snow, and began to follow the dire wolf home.

~x~

Bran pushed the men and horses hard, never stopping to east or rest. He didn't miss the exhausted looks he got from his men or their horses. He knew Fog would keep going, he knew the only reason the grey horse had returned was to get him to help free his master. Bran saw in the horses mind, as she killed a man, who had his hand up her skirt, and would have vowed to kill the man if she had not already done so. _Mine, _the thought kept creeping up in his mind possessively.

Only his brothers never complained of the pace he set, of which he was grateful. Even with Fog's memories of the run from her captors, Bran never would have been able to find her trail, if not for the familiar swatches of sapphire fabric that shone against the snow. _Mine, _he smiled to himself at the idea that she was keeping a level head despite her capture, which would have rendered most women in to sniveling heaps.

They'd found the cave from Fog's memories, the bramble curtain pulled wide open so he could see that no one was there except the bodies of three men, and with horrible wounds. He hoped they had all died at her hand. _Mine, _the thought popped up again. He couldn't fight it anymore. He needed her, Gendry had been right in everything that he had said. He many not be what he thought she needed or deserved, but he loved her more than his own life, more than he wanted to walk again. He'd happily spend every day of the rest of his life in his wheeled chair, if only she was happy and safe at his side.

_I just have to find her, _he thought. He looked around for more of her torn gown, but didn't see any swatches of the tell tale fabric. _Please gods, _he prayed a picture of the weir wood jumping into his mind, _Let her be alive. _He told the men to rest, and they all groaned in happiness as they all broke into their provisions of wine and bread, happy at the respite from riding.

Bran stayed in the saddle though, joining minds with Summer, who had never left his side for an instant. There were so many smells, horses, men, blood, some fresh, some stale, some hers, that even the dire wolf couldn't pick of the scent. Bran's eyes flitted about the valley looking for some other animal and finally found a squirrel and quickly joined his mind with the rodent, seeing that the Raiders had gone east, and ordered the men back into the saddles.

"Milord," the captain cautioned "The men and horses will die if we keep this pace." The look Bran gave him silenced the grizzled fighter. And he simply nodded and ordered the men back into the saddle.

They rode even harder than before, the idea that they were close spurring Bran, making his heart soar. He joined minds with several animals, confirming that they were on the right trail. It was not too long that a physical trial was apparent, and the men and horses seemed to get a second wind, as if knowing that the ordeal was coming to a close the closer they got to her.

Finally, Sandor's hounds picked up the scent, and began running harder. Summer striding out before the hounds, leaping and tearing out a man's throat before the Raider knew there was any danger. The only thing Bran heard before they descended upon the Ghost Raiders was shouts of confusion. Bran drew Ice from it's sheath on his back. He should have been more clumsy, wielding a great sword with one hand, but the lightness of valyrian steel, and his freakishly strong arms, he wielded the sword as if it were an extension of his arm, cutting through men left and right, his eyes looking about the thirty odd men, trying to find her.

"Josslyn," he bellowed, her name leaping unbidden to his lips as he searched for her tiny frame among the fray. He knew it was the first time he'd even thought her name in days. But try as he might, he didn't see her. He cut down each man, thinking only of finding her, of having her back. When finally the last man died at Ice's kiss. He surveyed the damage. Not one of the Ghost Raiders had been spared his rage, all of them lay dead at Fog's feet, but Josslyn was still not there. Summer was darting around the remains of man and horse trying to find her scent, but to no avail.

Bran bowed his head, closing his eyes, fighting the tears. He felt Rickon's hand on his shoulder, "Bran, send the men back, we can find her from here." Bran nodded half heartedly, and his brother relayed his orders. The men protested that there were more dangers than just the Raiders, but in the end they went home. When they were finally gone, the four brothers circled their horses.

"No sign," Rickon asked, "None at all?" Bran shook his head.

"What if she's already dead?" he asked, his own voice weak and he was glad the men were gone.

"Bah," Sandor scoffed. "She's a Lannister, worth three time her weight in gold in ransom. They wouldn't kill her." Bran was aware that Sandor had spent some time as an outlaw, and his insight gave him some hope, however little.

"More like she escaped in the fighting," Gendry scowled about the dead bodies already being picked apart by carrion birds.

"Then why didn't she hear me," Bran spat.

"No guarantee she could have over all the clanging and screaming," Sandor shrugged.

"Josslyn," Rickon laughed suddenly. "Is her name your new battle cry Bran?" The others chuckled, but Summer whimpering at his side recalled his attention. Bran stared at his wolf, wishing that he could find some bit of her trail, until a pair of fresh footprints in the snow caught his attention.

"Sandor," he snapped his finger's pointing directly at the prints. The hulking man leaped off his horse, and examined them.

"Defiantly a woman's" he shrugged. "Likely they could be hers." That was all Bran needed to join his mind to Fog's and urge the horse to gallop down the trail, her foot prints filling him with hope that she was still alive. _Mine._

~X~

Josslyn knew she should be cold, but she couldn't feel it. _Another bad sign,_ she thought to herself. Summer was leading her back to Winterfell, but she knew she didn't have the strength to make it. She was stumbling, and falling all over the place. Every once and a while Summer would let her bury her hand in his warm fur for support and help her keep walking.

But Josslyn was having a hard time fighting the fever, fighting the pain in her ribs and fighting the sleep that threatened to overcome her every time she blinked snow from her eyes. She was at least thankful that she had worn her boots, but they had long since soaked through and she could hardly feel her feet anymore.

Her head lolled as she walked, and lost her balance, sinking into a tree, giving up. Summer, who had been several paces in front of her, stopped and padded silently back to where she sat leaning against the tree, his yellow eyes sad.

"I'm sorry Summer," she said, her own voice so weak that she could barely hear it. "Thank you for trying though." The wolf snarled and snapped, and nudged her trying to force her to stand, and whimpered when he finally saw that it was pointless. The dire wolf sunk down on top of her, shielding Josslyn from the elements as best he could. Josslyn gave the wolf a sad smile, rubbing his head, the way she knew he liked. _This is it, _she thought, _I'm going to die so far from home, far from him. I'll never see my mother again, never see my father, never kiss Bran again. But at least I'll die warm, _she thought finally as her eyes became to heavy for her to keep open and she drifted away into the dark, with Bran's beautiful smile in her minds eye, his strong voice calling her name.

**Hmmm…how can Summer be in two places at once? It's times like this where I'm glad I'm the writer not the reader. **


	7. Chapter 7

**You all know the drill by now, don't own squat…**

Bran tore through the woods recklessly, screaming Josslyn's name. He could feel the branches cutting into the skin of his face and his arms, but he didn't care. Summer had finally found her scent, but it was mingled with something else, something even the dire wolf didn't understand.

Fog was frothing at the mouth finally spent, when he finally caught a glimpse of her gown, under a great shaggy brown and grey fur. Summer growled furiously and Bran finally realized that a dire wolf lay on top her. Summer leapt at the wolf, dragging it away from Josslyn, forcing the giant beast to submit, though use of claws and fangs. The dire wolf had been asleep for a moment, but at the feel of Summer's teeth it woke up and fought back. Growls and yelps echoed though the night, and Bran wished that his stupid legs would work so that he could run to Josslyn.

Sandor got warily from his horse and skirted the fighting wolves trying to get Josslyn, but the brown and grey wolf spun and lunged at him snarling, Bran barely had the time to join his mind with the wolfs and force her to stand down. The female dire wolf was feral, not used to humans like Summer or Shaggy Dog or Nymeria, but for some reason, she had protected Josslyn, trying to return her from where she came. Bran couldn't puzzle out why, until he released her mind, and she attacked Summer again, this time more playfully than she had before, going so far as to present Summer her hind quarters.

Bran and Rickon laughed, but with a questioning look from Gendry, Rickon explained. "She's Summer's mate. No wonder she took care of Joslsyn, she must have smelled him on her." Bran just watched as Sandor lifted a limp Josslyn in his arms and carried her to where he was waiting. Sandor laughed gently as he handed her to Bran, and he pulled her close, not even sparing a glance for his brothers who had been with him from the start.

She was soaked through, and burning with a fever, blood was splattered across her face and chest, and her features were caked in mud and grime, tear tracks clearly evident on her dirty face. He had nearly forgotten how she smelled, and even through the blood and grime, she still smelled of summer snow and lilacs. He could see bruises marring her creamy skin, and she winced as her pulled her to him Bran stayed sitting on Fog, with Josslyn finally returned to his arms, as the others made camp for the first time since they'd left the gates of Winterfell. Bran just held her close, he knew he'd have to get her out of her wet clothes.

Gendry and Rickon had set up his tent and then quickly left, him alone with her. Once she'd been placed in his tent, he stripped her of her wet ruined gown. _Stupid girl, _he thought as he pulled one of his own dry shirts over her still unconscious messy body, _She proved her point, and that nearly got her killed. _He knew what she was doing when he saw her in the blue gown that she'd worn to their first dinner, the gown she was wearing when he'd fallen in love with her, but he cursed her stubbornness for it now

Bran stretched out beside her feverish body, and pulled her close to him on his cot. He sighed closing his eyes, knowing they were not out of the woods yet. The fever that burned in her, was worse than he'd ever seen, and may still kill her. Bran felt a wet nose nudge his arm, and turned to see the female dire wolf, staring at him with cautious yellow eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered to the wolf, who simply snuffed a blast of air in his face before padding out of his tent. Summer came in a short while later, crawling up on the cot trying to keep Josslyn warm. Bran felt his eyes grow heavy, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he saw that the female dire wolf had come into the tent sometime in the night, and was curled on top of Josslyn, licking Summer affectionately. Bran looked down at Josslyn, who's face was gleaming with sweat, though she felt a little cooler than she had the night before, but her face was still covered in grime. He leaned in and lightly kissed her lips, which made her flinch. His heart broke. _What happened to you, my love?_ he thought. He didn't want to think about what she'd endured at the hands of the Ghost Raiders, but thanked the gods that Ice was stained with their blood.

"No one will touch you again, Josslyn," his whispered in her ear. "I swear it." Sandor came to get him, and lifted him on to Fog's back before returning for Josslyn, who was wrapped in a heavy woolen cloak. When the grey horse saw his master, he went crazy, grunting and whinnying, pawing at the ground with excitement. Sandor lifted Josslyn into the saddle in front of Bran.

"You should ride ahead of us," Sandor gruffed. "It'll take us a while to break camp and she needs a maester." Bran nodded, but before he could do anything, Fog whinnied and raced north, Summer and the she-wolf silently keeping pace. It was hours before Bran saw the gates of Winterfell in the distance, but Fog never let his pace up for a moment. He could barely rein the horse to a stop when they finally barreled through the gates, and he bellowed for Tommen. The blonde man came running and when he saw his cousin, openly wept. He took Josslyn from Bran, much to Bran's dislike and ran from him, never slowing for an instant, both wolfs following at his heals, the she wolf even snapping as if to urge him faster.

Bran anxiously waited until a large stable boy lifted him from the equally anxious horse, and as soon as he was in his chair, he took off after Tommen, only to be stopped by his sisters.

"Out of my way," Bran snarled. "You're husbands are fine they'll be back." But his sister's never moved, Arya's hand resting on Needle and Sansa's arms were crossed in front of her chest in irritation. "What?" he snapped. They just looked at him, expectantly. "You can start planning the gods damned wedding as soon as she's awake, if she'll have me." Sansa smiled brightly and threw her arms around her brother, Arya simply nodded, still looking irritated and went back to the walls to watch for Gendry.

When Bran finally made it to Josslyn's room, he saw Tommen had changed her sweat soaked clothes again into a simple cotton shift, but the look in Tommen's eyes was both worried and hopeful. Both the wolves laying at the foot of Josslyn's bed, though the she-wolf snarled at his approach.

"She was severely beaten," the maester said not looking Bran in the eyes. "One of the bastards cracked a few of her ribs, and she's black and blue. But her fever has broken and it appears that most of the blood that covered her wasn't her own."

"Gave them a good fight then," Bran said proudly, smiling for the first time since his name day. "That's my girl," he said taking her hand and giving it a little squeeze. She squeezed back, but her grip was so faint that Bran thought maybe he'd imagined it.

"Yes she did," Tommen said approval evident in his voice. "We just need to wait until she wakes." And with a bow, Tommen left he room, leaving him alone with her. He looked down at the new wolf, Summer's mate and a name for her popped in to his head. "Good girl, Winter," he said scratching the back of her head.

~x~

Josslyn dreamed that she was back in Winterfell. _Appropriate, _she thought, _perhaps I was good and the gods blessed me with eternal dreams of where I was happiest._ She dreamed of Tommen, hovering over her speaking in hushed tones about how strong she was, dreamed of Sansa sewing next to her kindly joking about how bad her own stitching was, Arya saying how she'd eventually make a decent fighter out of her. _Wouldn't you be proud to know that I killed four of the Raiders, Arya?_ Summer was always at her side, as was a strange new wolf. But mostly she dreamed of Bran, his face wrought with worry, talking to her softly. He was always with her, through Arya and Sansa and even their children who appeared to be crying. _They must be sad I'm gone, _she thought. _I had so many more stories for them. _

One day, she felt as if her eyes opened, and she saw her room at Winterfell, Bran's face so close to her own, his eyes closed with sleep. Then she felt the pain, the unbearable pain and whimpered. Bran's eyes flew open, and his lips flew to hers.

"You're awake," he said between beautiful kisses. "Gods, Josslyn, I thought I'd lost you." When he finally pulled away, she winced and raised a hand to caresses his stubble lined face.

"It's all just a dream," she said, tears pouring from her eyes, her throat sore from talking.

"It's not Josslyn," Bran said as he pulled himself into her bed and lay beside her.

"Yes it is," she smiled, her mind was so hazy. "I died, Summer was there."

"Josslyn," he whispered lovingly against her lips as he kissed her again. "Love, you're not dead, you're very much alive." Josslyn shook her head, and whimpered again from the pain. Her eyes shot open wide and she realized that if she was dead, she wouldn't hurt. She began to cry, Bran wrapped her tightly in his arms and held her, whispering in her ear, telling her she was fine, that he loved her, that he'd never leave.

After what felt like hours, she drifted off to sleep again. But when she awoke, Bran was still there, snoring softly beside her, his arms wrapped so tightly around her that she wondered if he thought she'd disappear if he didn't hold so her so fiercely. She sat up, the pain bringing forth new silent tears and saw Summer asleep at the foot of her bed, with the wolf that she had thought was Summer in her fevered state. The wolf raised her head and watched her suspiciously.

Josslyn raised a hand, and offered it to the wolf, but not making a movement toward it. The dire wolf cautiously leaned its head to Joslsyn's hand and sniffed before licking it and curling up with Summer, going back to sleep.

"Winter is apparently Summer's mate," she heard Bran chuckle softly from behind her. She tried to spin around, but the pain the sudden movement caused was too great and she collapsed, whimpering. Bran was there to catch her, and gently lay back down with her.

"Winter?" she asked when the burning pain had finally subsided.

"That what I've been calling her at least," Bran whispered to her. "If you don't like the name, then change it. She appears to be yours anyhow."

"I'm not a Stark, Bran," she laughed bitterly, pain flared in her ribs again. "Lannister's don't keep dire wolves."

"You can be a Stark," Bran said hesitantly, his dark eyes searching hers. Josslyn closed her eyes and looked away. "It's all my fault," Bran whispered with such conviction that she didn't stop him to argue. He toyed with her tangled sweat damp hair for a few moments before he spoke again. "I never should have sent you away, I never should have hurt you. I want you Josslyn, more than I want to breathe. I know you deserve more…" Josslyn stopped him by placing her hand over his mouth.

"That was never the case Bran," she whispered. He looked away from her a blush creeping in to his cheeks. "If anything you're more than I deserve." She looked away from him, not being able to look him in the eyes for the next part. "I'm not entirely blameless you know. I could have stayed, I could have fought with you until you gave in, I could have not left to prove some stupid proud point of mine." They lay there not speaking for a long time. Winter jumped off the bed and padded over to the partially open door and left, Summer not far behind her.

Josslyn just lay there, relishing in Bran's warmth, in is arms, in the soft kisses that he would trail down her cheeks. It was late, the sliver of the moon shone though the window. "If I stay," she whispered and felt Bran stiffen next to her, "You can never do that to me again, You can never send me away, never tell me you're not good enough." Bran tried to look away but she grabbed his chin and forced his dark gaze to hers.

"You're more than good enough Bran," she kissed him lightly on the nose. "Any one who tells you other wise, I'll run through like I did a few of the Ghost Raiders." Bran laughed, the sound music to her ears after the torments she'd faced. He pulled her to him, gently, but there was nothing gentle about the kiss he gave her. When he finally pulled away she was breathless a longing in her loins that she knew had noting to do with her beatings.

"Marry me Josslyn," he whispered, his warm breath making her lips ache for his again.

"Yes," she whispered before leaning in to kiss him again.

**Awww. Don't change that dial so fast readers…we're not quite done yet. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Still don't own anything, but sometime I really wish I did...This chapter is why the story is rated M, some smutty goodness a little further on...**

It had taken nearly two months for all the preparations to be completed. As soon as he was able to will himself from Josslyn's arms, Bran had written to her father, cursing the slow speed at which the raven flew off. It was nearly two weeks before Josslyn was able to get out of bed, but Bran spent every second he could with her, spending each night holding her for fear she would disappear again. He watched her grow stronger, watched each day as the bruises faded leaving her skin smooth and creamy once more. One night he'd sat there and listened as she told Arya and Sansa of what had happened when she left Winterfell. Sansa cried, and Bran knew that she was remembering her own torment at the hands of the bastard king. Arya listened stone faced until Josslyn told them of how she'd killed four of the men, and she laughed,

"I knew you were meant to be a Stark," she winked. At night sometimes Josslyn would wake from a nightmare, and it would rip Bran's heart apart to know that she'd ever been hurt, and vowed to make her laugh every day until the day he died. When he finally got her father's response, he was overjoyed. The letter said that by the time he received it they would already be making their way to Winterfell, and to make any preparations they wanted, that the money meant nothing and Josslyn could have anything her heart desired. Sansa squealed in joy at this idea, and began once again, to go overboard. Josslyn tried to insist that she didn't need a huge wedding, but to Sansa it didn't matter. The invitations were sent, and everyone in Casterly Rock and the North were invited, as well as several others that Bran knew Josslyn would want there.

Josslyn's parents, Jason and Christine Lannister arrived three weeks after Bran had received Lord Jason's letter. Lady Lannister ran and embraced her daughter, and Bran saw that Josslyn barely kept from wincing from her still healing ribs. Lord Jason strode directly to Bran and shook his hand, and Bran liked the man instantly. He had the look of a Lannister, spun gold hair, tan with piercing green eyes, but was exactly like Josslyn in his manner. Lady Christine had a strange lilt to her voice, but looked so much like Josslyn that half the men in Winterfell were in love on sight. Josslyn's younger brother, Tyrion, was very much like her, slightly wild with a very sharp wit, but his twin sister, Rossalyn was exactly like Sansa, the epitome of a proper lady, who seemed annoyed by her siblings antics.

Dinners were a loud affair, filled with laughter. Josslyn would still sit at the foot of the table with the children, leaving the Lady's chair vacant until the children were sent to bed, and she would join Bran, holding his hand tightly. Bran would see her to her room, every night, and kiss her hand, playing the part of the perfect gentlemen. But as soon as he knew the castle was asleep, he would steal down the halls and into her room, where she would be laying with Summer and Winter, waiting for him.

So many nights they would just lay and talk until the sun came up, and as the two went to dine with the family, Sandor would make some remark about how tired they looked, until Sansa would slap him in the arm. Some nights they would just sleep, understanding that propriety dictated that they not share a bed until they were married, but not wanting to spend even one night away from the other. The only thing that kept Bran from taking her to bed, was knowing that he would be able to soon enough, though his lust filled dreams had returned and each time he woke pressing his length against Josslyn's hip she would blush crimson.

Winterfell sung with the sounds of too many house guests. Those that they couldn't house in the massive castle, we housed in the nearest inns, but even the inns were overflowing and a series of tents and pavilions had been erected just beyond the walls of the castle.

"You're sister really has gone overboard," Josslyn said as they looked out among the tents that lay just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

"It's your wedding, love," Bran laughed "You could have said no."

"Oh, why deny her the pleasure," Josslyn waved a dismissive hand. "It's the last wedding she'll have a hand in planning until her own children have grown." Bran smiled. His sisters had taken to calling her sister even though they were not yet married, and for that he couldn't be happier. They continued to gaze into the horizon, until they could most certainly make out the shape of three massive dragons getting closer.

Together they hurried down the walls and outside the gates of Winterfell accompanied by Summer and Winter, who had warmed to human companionship, but was still a bit aloof and hardly tolerated anyone outside of Josslyn and Bran.

The queen landed a quarter of a mile out, and they stood in silence as they watched the crowds gather in the North to see the queen. Bran smiled brightly when he saw Jon walking just behind Daenerys approached her hair long and tingling with many bells that Joslsyn had told him was a Dothraki tradition, each bell representing a different battle won.

Bran bowed as best he could when the queen approached. "Lord Stark," Daenerys smiled all grace an beauty. "It's very pleasant to see you again, and for your wedding even. You brother here feared you might not ever take a wife." Bran grimaced slightly but Josslyn laughed at his side.

"Your Grace," she said with a curtsey. Daenerys smiled and pulled Josslyn into a hug.

"It's been too long without you at court," the queen smiled releasing Josslyn from her arms. "But I fear now that I'll have to go much longer without you."

"Yes, your grace," Josslyn smiled. "But you do have your dragons, which do make for fast travel, and I think you will always be welcome in the North."

"All gentility Joss," the queen laughed. "Come now, I'm tired and would hear of your adventures here in the wild that has so captivated you." The queen gave a knowing smile to Bran and the pair left, speaking in rapid Dothraki, followed only by the queen's blood riders.

As soon as she was gone, Jon ran forward and embraced his brother. "Where is everyone?" Jon asked with a happy smile, clearly impatient to see his siblings after being away for so long.

"Inside," Bran winked. "Come on." The reunion of the Starks was full of tears and laughter. They spent the day laughing at speaking of the old days, before their father had gone to King's Landing and their family fell apart. They spoke of their father and mother, and of dear Robb, all long dead and burried beneath the ground at Winterfell. Bran realized that Winterfell hadn't been this full of laughter or Starks in so long, and he knew a large part of it was his Josslyn's doing.

That night dinner was an odd affair. Josslyn had given her seat to Daenerys and sat at the foot with the children, translating the stories the Dothraki told. Eddard was particularly enthralled by the Dothraki, who's stories were more gruesome than most. By the end of the night, he proclaimed he'd become a blood rider to the queen, which seemed to please the Dothraki.

Bran saw Josslyn back to her room, smiling slyly the whole way. "I know that look," Josslyn said with a roll of her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Bran asked feigning innocence.

"That's the look you get when you're not telling me something," Josslyn narrowed her eyes and Bran couldn't help by laugh.

"Just a surprise for tomorrow, my love," he said pulling her into his lap and kissing her. Just then, her door opened behind her, and a grumpy Sansa stood framed by the door.

"Not tonight brother," Sansa said with a smile and Bran winced, she knew about his nightly visits to Josslyn's room.

"Until tomorrow," Bran said and he raked a kiss across her knuckles.

"She'll be the one in the bridal gown," Arya called laughing from inside the bedroom. Josslyn gave him a slightly sad look, but he smiled. And left her there in the care of his sisters. That night Bran hardly slept. If it wasn't dreams, it was excitement. When he finally did sleep, he dreamed of a lion that kept turning into a dire wolf, into Winter. When dawn finally broke, his brothers came to greet him, laughing and jesting about the wedding night to come.

The day was agonizingly long, but at noon, he was in the godswood. The wood was too small for all the people who had turned up, but that didn't matter. When he finally saw Josslyn, everything melted away, the guests, the fighting, everything. She was radiant, in a gown of ivory with grey pearls sewn into the bodice and the sleeves. Bran smiled slyly again as she approached him, her hard resting lightly on the crook of her father's arm. Shakily, and with a hand from Gendry, Bran stood, the poles that supported his legs locking into place, just as Josslyn said they would. He heard the gathered crowd gasp in surprise, but he had eyes only for her. She smiled, tears of joy pricking the corners of her beautiful green eyes. When she reached him, he extended his hand, and she looked up at him. Tommen was going on about duty and honor, but Bran didn't hear a damn word. A red ribbon was wrapped around their joined hands, and Bran's hands trembled as he removed her crimson Lannister cloak, replacing it for the grey of the Starks.

"What we have bound here," Tommen's voice rang out over the gods wood, "Let no man or woman tear apart." And it was done, she was his, she was Lady Josslyn Stark of Winterfell. _Josslyn Stark, _he thought as he drew her in for a kiss, _That has a beautiful ring to it. _With a practiced gesture, he released the lock on the poles along his legs, and sank back into his chair, wishing he could pull he wife into his lap, but they had a duty to do now.

The feast was excruciatingly long, for Bran's tastes. He wondered why they would have such a cruel tradition when all a new husband wanted to do was be alone with his wife. This time Bran gave his seat to the queen, moving down one seat further so that he could still be near his Josslyn. Course after course was brought out, and the guests inside the hall and outside in the courtyard ate until everyone was stuffed. Even more painful for him was the long line of well wishers that approached the table.

He clutched Josslyn's hand, her mere presence giving him the patience he needed to deal with the four hundred people that approached the dais and wished them long happy lives. Lords Karstark and Bolton, pretended to be devastated at the loss of such an eligible young maiden, but Bran suspected behind their bravado was some genuine sadness that she was no longer available to court. Lord Umber eventually approached with sad puppy eyes.

"Lord Umber," Josslyn said with a bright smile, "Have you met my siblings, My brother Tyrion and my _sister_ Rossalyn." Bran had to choke on his laughter at Josslyn's emphasis of sister. Umber turned his gaze to bow politely to the twins and his sad eyes grew excited when they fell of the young Rossalyn.

"You did that on purpose," Bran whispered into her ear. Josslyn laughed prettily.

"Of course," she whispered back. "No way to heal a broken heart but to find yourself in love." Bran grabbed her hand and kissed it, happy when she shivered in response. When tradition dictated that they dance, Josslyn gracefully offered the honor to the queen, who asked Jon to accompany her. Bran watched with some fascination as his brother spun the queen around the floor, noticing the furtive glances they shot each other and the whispers that they shared.

"Is there something going on there?" Bran asked her, but she just smiled and returned her attention to the pair on the dance floor. That was all the answer Bran needed. _Poor Jon,_ he thought. The queen left almost as soon as the dance was over, telling the new couple that she had to return on urgent business, but she had told Jon to stay as long as he'd like. Bran definitely didn't miss the look of longing his brother shot the queen as she left trailed by her blood riders.

Josslyn danced with a few people but always returned to his side as quickly as she could without being rude. Bran couldn't have been more grateful. He had thought that he would have tried to stand on the dance floor with her with the use of the clever braces, but his entire body ached from the excursion in the gods woods and decided it was better not to try.

Sandor appeared at their side, and with a smile, hefted Josslyn over his shoulder as he would have a sack of flour and called for the bedding. Sansa hated this tradition, but it was expected and had warned Bran they would be carried to their room and then promptly left alone. The gathered audience roared in laughter and then doubled over as Josslyn kicked Sandor hard in the belly, making him flinch and grimace slightly. His sisters saw Bran to the room he was to be sharing with Josslyn and saw her already waiting for him. The door was slammed behind him and he heard Sandor begin to shoo away the crowd that had already form eager to listen.

Bran stared at his wife and saw that she was tense and thoroughly embarrassed. He extended a hand to her and she took it pulling herself to perch on his lap, as she had done a thousand times before. Bran leaned in and kissed her neck sweetly, "We don't have to do anything yet if you're not ready." The words killed him to say, he wanted her, wanted to see her gloriously naked before him, wanted to feel her wet warm walls clench around him as he'd dreamed so many times before, but he wouldn't if she wasn't ready. He still had no idea, fully what the Raiders had done to her.

As if in response she blushed an alluring shade of crimson, and pressed her lips to his, lightly licking his lips. Bran eagerly opened his mouth and her tongue darted in, wrestling with his own, as his nimble fingers worked the ribbons that held her gown together. He got frustrated and simply ripped the ribbons away, Josslyn's gown falling to her waist. He pulled back from her kiss, eyeing her hungrily. Her breasts were large, full and perky, and he eagerly took one into his hand, his thumb whisking over an already taught nipple. Josslyn moaned and shifted to straddle him in his chair, but he had other ideas.

He pushed them to the bed, pulling the flowing gown over her hips as he moved, and lifted her on to the bed, before pulling himself beside her, noticing for the first time that she had worn nothing beneath the gown. She was finally naked in front of him, and he stared at her, growing hard at the sight of her tiny little body on his bed. His hands moved along her sides and he took one of her breasts into his mouth, earning a hiss of pleasure from his wife.

When his hands reached her thighs she moaned, and he lost all conscious thought, bringing a calloused hand to caress the inside of her thigh drifting ever closer to where he truly wanted to be. His own breath was ragged as he switched to her other breast lavishing all the same attention that he had the first one, swirling his tongue around her nipple. He could feel the dark nest of curls that hid her nether lips from him, and parted them, finding her already slightly damp opening and inserting a finger. Instinctively she bucked against his hand, drawing him farther, causing all the blood to rush to his aching groin.

With his thumb he began to wind slow circles around the nub of highly sensitive flesh, earning a startled cry of pleasure from Josslyn. His lips began to trace their way back up her chest, nipping at her collar bone, before finding their way back to her lips. He could tastes the sweet sweat already forming on her body, from the ministrations of his fingers, and her constant whimpers and moans, were a song to his ears that he never wanted to be without. He inserted a second finger into her, joining the first, stretching her, making her ready, and began to feel her trembling walls begin to contract with the beginnings of her orgasm.

He pressed a little harder and faster on her nub, and earned a scream of unexpected pleasure, as her walls began to milk his fingers. He kissed her lightly, lovingly as she began to come down from her unexpected high. Her sweat covering her body, and the dampness between her thighs, and his name on her lips were all too much for him to bear, and he rolled her on top of him, he tore off his own shirt and she greedily unlaced his breaches, all nervousness and hesitation gone from her.

Josslyn pulled his pants from his body throwing them from the bed in haste. And he hissed as the cold air hit his hard member. It was Josslyn's turn to study him naked, and she shyly focused on the one part of his anatomy that so desperately wanted her attention. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous again, but she straddled his hips none the less, leaning down to kiss and nip at his neck as he'd done her own. He had very little movement in his hips, but he bucked none the less, earning moan of pleasure, and an overwhelming desire to sheath himself inside her.

Bran pushed himself up so that he was sitting, the tips of her hard nipples brushing his chest, and pulled her into kiss him, as his hand found it's way back between her legs. She let out a cry of pleasure as he positioned himself at her entrance, and she began to lower herself onto his length, panting slow inch by excruciatingly slow inch. Suddenly he reach a barrier inside her, and was overjoyed to know that he was her first and her only. He pulled away from her kiss and stared deep into her lovely green eyes, and saw that once again she was nervous and scared, biting her lip.

"It's going to hurt love," he purred in her ear. "You may want to take it slow." But his last word was a howl of pleasure as she suddenly pulled up on his length and drove herself down onto him, breaking her maidenhead. She cried out in pain and tensed, as soon as he was fully inside of her, and Bran pulled his wife closer, holding her, whispering of his love for her, kissing her tears away, until she finally relaxed in his arms. She pulled up again, causing Bran to groan, and thrust down, over and over, each time the pain etched in her face giving way to pleasure.

His hands dug into her hips guiding them, showing her how to move, to roll her hips to increase her pleasure, and soon again, she was panting on top of him thrusting in wild abandon. He was nearing his pleasure too quickly. He had wanted her for so long that now that she was his he couldn't contain himself. He reached between her legs with one hand and began to stroke her slick nub, hearing her breath hitch more before her moans turned into screams of pleasure and he lost himself in bliss right along with her, her walls now milking the seed from him, pulling it deep in to her belly.

When they both came down, he remained inside of her, though he was spent and softening, just wanting to be close to her. He ghosted his nose along the side of her neck, placing kisses every so often as her breathing returned to her. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and pulled his lips to hers, into the most love filled kiss he thought might have ever been had. He pulled her down on top of him as he lay back, sad when he slipped from inside of her, but more content than he'd ever been in his life when she laid her head on his shoulder and they drifted off to sleep together.

Bran couldn't seem to get enough of her that night, nor she of him. He awoke to find her hands on him, urging him hard so that they could go again. Bran awoke late in the night, harder than he had ever been in his life, and rolled her over, thrusting as hard as he could into her, before she took over as if by instinct. Their voices were mingled cries of pleasure, and when they were spent, they fell asleep in a warm temporarily sated embrace.

Josslyn didn't want to leave their room the next morning, but despite her protests and attempts to get him back into bed, the washed, another lovely tryst as they shared a bath, and dressed, descending the winding halls of Winterfell to find a large group gathered in the dining hall making crude comments and inquiries about their night of passion. They scarcely finished eating, when Bran ghosted his hand up her thigh beneath the table and they disappeared for the majority of the day.

That night, when she slept naked in his arms, he stared at the woman who had taught him how to be happy again. He studied every curve of her body, every twist in her hair, tussled from their love making, every inch of skin, her scent, though now it was mingled so beautifully with his own. He closed his eyes, content and happy for the first time in twenty years, and only had one thought on his mind, _Mine._

**So I threw in a little Jon/Dany love for people who enjoy it, though I have my own theories about Jon's actual parentage is and I'll just say it's not Ned. Hope you enjoyed the smut, it's only the second time I've written a lemon and I'm still trying to get used to it. Got one last chapter to come, just a really short epilogue to show that there will always be Starks in Winterfell.**_  
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	9. Chapter 9

Epilogue:

Seven years later, his sibling were gathered once again for his name day, only this time the group of children included three of his own. He watched as Sansa lectured Josslyn about at least attempting to make a lady of their daughter Catelyn, who even bore his own mother's Tully hair and eyes. Their son Ned, flung a bit of bread at his cousin, Brandon, the son that Marci had born Rickon who was only nine months older than Ned and the two descended into laughter.

Marci, was cooing over the three year old girl, Dany in Josslyn's arms, saying how much she looked like her mother, Dany not paying attention in the slightest, instead she was playing with a tiny dire wolf cub that Summer had brought home for her. Every time Josslyn had a child, around that child's third birthday Summer and Winter would come trotting into Winterfell and drop a cub in the child's lap. Ned had already begun to talk about his wolf dreams, and Bran knew the young boy had inherited more than just his Stark looks. Josslyn was already heavy again with their forth child, who Bran had dreamed would be a boy only the night before. When he told Josslyn of his dream, she just smiled and said, "One of them will be."

"You damned Lannisters and your twins," Bran had laughed.

"Not a Lannister, my darling," she had cooed in his ear making his groin twitch. "I'm a Stark, or did you forget that."

"I could never forget that Josslyn Stark," Bran whispered in her ear. And it was true. She had shed her lion pelt and become a dire wolf through and through, and never once had she ever looked back.


End file.
